


Le Déluge

by la_faerie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, tour fic from Louis' pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 10:07:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis has always known, in a theoretical way, that the center of a flame burns blue, but he had never witnessed it up close before. He didn’t realize that the color blue could be so warm. Now it’s all he can see.</i>
</p>
<p>in which Louis steals a painting, gets banned from staying in hotels, sleeps through meeting David Beckham, and realizes that he's in love with both Eleanor and Niall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Le Déluge

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I should put kiss warnings for Louis/Liam and Louis/Zayn. I don't feel that there's enough to tag either of those pairings, but be aware that it's there.
> 
> Thank you, as ever, to my incomparable Editor-in-Chief, [Lindsay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/pseuds/icecreamsocialist).

Louis scans the room service menu, grateful that it’s written in both Italian and English. He paces back and forth in his room trying to decide what to order. The group of them have a free night before a busy day tomorrow, loaded with interviews, meet and greets, and a show, of course. He wants to phone Eleanor now, but he’s waiting for her to text first to let him know that she’s free.

Each of the boys get their own hotel rooms on this tour. Louis’ is a bit small, as most spaces are in Europe, but it has a cozy feel with heavy velvet curtains, and dark wood beams cutting across the ceiling, which Louis suspects are more for decorative purposes than structural support.

He flicks through the menu in search of the alcoholic offerings, and leans one knee casually against his bed. There’s a painting hanging above the bed, or rather, a print reproduction of a painting. It’s composed simply of bright colors forming different types of lines. It’s more of a pastiche than a solid composition, and it stands out in stark contrast to the darker décor of the room. 

There’s something inexplicably compelling about the painting, and Louis finds himself drawn to the spirals of color, but snaps to attention when his glance falls on a bottle of Cristal listed on the menu. He knows there’s a bottle of generic label prosecco on offer for 16 euro, but the mere sound of “generic label prosecco” is unbearably tedious. He doesn’t even bother looking at the mid-tier offerings. No, it will have to be the Cristal.

Louis dials room service from the hotel phone—one eye still on the painting—and then he rings Niall.

“Niall, don’t hang up. It’s me, Tommo.”

“Shit,” Niall answers. “Thought for sure you were another fan who’d managed to snag my room number.”

“Why in the fuck did you answer if that’s what you thought?”

“Was going to tell you to fuck off! In a nice way, of course.”

“Well don’t, because I’ve just ordered champagne. Round up the lads and come over.”

“Champagne, eh?”

“Yes!” Louis exclaims. “We’re in Italy, of course we should have champagne. We should be doing this in style.”

Niall pauses. “Isn’t champagne French?”

“Shut up or I’m rescinding the invitation.”

“Such a magnanimous host,” Niall teases. “Be over in a few.”

The champagne arrives in the traditional transparent “crystal” bottle, along with a display of snacks. Louis has learned that food tends to come along with expensive drinks, even when you haven’t asked for it. Apparently champagne requires dessert, and so the server leaves Louis with the Cristal, several champagne flutes, and a tray of sweets. Louis tries a piece of biscotti. It isn’t really his favorite, but at least Niall will be pleased with the spread.

There’s a loud banging on the door, much louder than the room service had been.

“This racket is very unprofessional,” Louis says, as he opens the door to Niall and Harry.

“Oh well, excuse me, _monsieur_ ,” Harry says with his best attempt at a sneering French accent, and a silly bow.

“Wrong country. Wrong language," Niall corrects, bouncing into the room. “Why does everyone think we’re in France?”

“Dammit!” Harry ambles in behind him.

“What’s this?” Louis asks. “Where are the others?”

“Zayn is sleeping, and Liam is at the gym,” Niall explains, bypassing the champagne and going straight for the food.

“Pathetic,” Louis declares. “The both of them.”

“What’s this about, anyway?” Harry asks. “What have you ordered? Because I’m about to go to the pool with Lou and Tom.”

“You’ve become such a bore.” Louis hurls one of the tiny decorative pillows from his bed at Harry, who shrugs it off. “It’s champagne. It’s Cristal. It’s an occasion unto itself. Why does no one else care about this?”

Harry discovers the chocolate-covered strawberries on the tray. He gives another little shrug and a smile. “I suppose you’ve done alright.”

“Yeah, Tommo’s alright,” Niall agrees, as he pours out three glasses of champagne. “Let’s toast, lads.”

Louis raises his champagne flute. The champagne bubbles rise to the surface of the drink in a steady stream, and, as Louis surveys the room through the glass, everything looks slightly distorted. The painting still hangs on the wall in the background, uncontrollable lines of color spilling out into the room. The way Niall is standing, he’s blocking part of the painting from view, his blue eyes taking over for the painting and lighting up that section of the room. But even through the effervescent haze, Louis thinks there’s a seriousness to Niall today, a harder edge than usual.

Louis tries his champagne, and it’s so dry as to be almost bitter. He likes the taste.

When the three of them have drained their glasses, Louis turns to face Niall and Harry, his hands on his hips.

“I need your help,” he announces.

“Oh no.” Harry immediately narrows his eyes. “I’m not pranking Paul for you anymore. I can’t believe I got the blame for you programming his phone to say _I love Johnny Depp_ every time he turns it on.”

Louis shrugs. “Well, you do love him. And anyway, this isn’t a prank.”

“Not a prank?” Niall cuts in. “It must be something worse, then.” And he helps himself to a second glass of champagne.

“Do you see that painting?” Louis points out the one hanging above his bed. “I want it.”

Harry huffs out a stunned laugh, like he doesn’t know what else to do. Niall laughs pretty frequently, and many times the laughter is because of something Louis has said or done. But Louis notices that Niall isn’t laughing right now.

“I’m pretty sure that’s a reproduction of something, mate,” Niall says to Louis. “You want, like, a print? We can go out and find you something.”

“Thank you, Leonardo DaVinci, but I don’t want any old print. I want _that_ one,” Louis emphasizes. “And I’m going to have it.”

“I thought you were done with your kleptomaniac ways,” Harry comments. “It’s been awhile since you’ve nicked anything.”

“It’s been awhile since anything has caught my eye. And it isn’t kleptomania,” Louis insists, because Harry should know that.

“What do you need us for?” Niall asks.

“It’s quite a big painting, if you hadn’t noticed. And I need help removing it from the wall. It’s mounted on there pretty tightly.”

“Oh, I wonder why the hotel would secure artwork tightly to the wall?” Harry snarks.

“Niall, you’ve got slender fingers,” Louis presses on ignoring Harry. “You can help take it down.”

Harry bursts out laughing again. “This sounds quite intimate. I’ll leave you two alone now, shall I?”

“Jesus Christ!” Niall sets his champagne flute down on the silver tray, and it makes a discordant clanging noise. “Don’t leave me,” he pleads to Harry.

Harry shrugs and starts toward the door. “I have a pool date.”

“Bloody useless!” Louis yells after him.

“Lux never speaks to me that way.”

“Because she’s a baby. She doesn’t know how crap you really are.”

Harry gives such an enormous eyeroll that Louis can see it all the way from across the room. “Take care of Niall,” Harry instructs, and then he’s gone.

“Are you determined to do this?” Niall asks once they’re alone.

“Yes,” Louis says, folding his arm across his chest, because Niall of all people should understand.

“You know it will be stolen property, right?”

“Has that ever stopped me before?”

Niall throws up his hands in surrender. “Just checking.”

He steps out of his shoes before hopping up onto the bed and bouncing his way over to inspect the painting. Louis follows suit.

“What do you reckon this artwork is, anyway?” Louis asks. “Abstract? Expressionism?”

“You’re taking it and you don’t even know what it is.”

Louis heaves a sigh. “This is why we need Zayn. He would know.”

“Well,” Niall grunts out, as he feels around behind the painting with one hand. “You’re stuck with me.”

Louis bites his lip. That wasn’t what he had meant. He could never feel stuck with Niall as though it’s a bad thing, although maybe that’s what he had implied. The misunderstanding stretches between them, until it seems too big for Louis to try to clear up right now. Niall’s tongue is tucked between his teeth as he concentrates on unhooking the painting from behind. Louis steps into place next to him and works the other side of the painting; it seems like the only thing to do.

Together they manage to unhook the painting from the wall and set it down on the bed, leaning it against the pillows as gently as possible. Niall flops down, his cheeks more flushed than usual, and observes the painting. He doesn’t let on whatever his opinion of the artwork might be.

“So,” Niall turns to Louis, and his blue eyes are so bright, the light renders them inscrutable.   
“You have what you wanted?”

“I suppose so,” Louis answers, slowly, wondering if he can catch Niall’s meaning.

“Good.” Niall gives Louis a wry sort of smile, like he simultaneously understands and doesn’t understand Louis.

“Where are you going?” Louis calls as Niall makes his way toward the door.

Niall waves his arms in a vague sweeping motion. “Out. Take care, Tommo.”

Louis sits alone on his bed for a long time, the painting next to him. The gold Cristal label gleams out into the room, the bubbles in the remaining champagne still streaming upward from the center of the bottle, a mark of the high quality of the drink. But Louis isn’t much interested in champagne anymore. As he takes in the quietness of his room, the thing that strikes him is that Niall hadn’t laughed once the whole time he had been there.

+

Paris had been the first time that things had been really scary. It was the first time they felt wobbly on their feet from something besides pure nerves, the first time they were unsure they could make it as a band. The masses of fans swarmed around the five of them, pressing in closer, and Louis had thought that they genuinely wouldn’t make it, that he’d be crushed underfoot right there in the streets of France. Famously, Liam had lost a shoe. Less famously, Niall had been so scared he couldn’t speak, couldn’t even ask for help.

When the five of them made it into the van waiting for them, they looked around at each other, stunned and breathing hard. They felt like survivors. Harry sat next to Niall and kept him wrapped in a hug the whole way to the hotel, but Niall remained clammed up.

At the hotel, Louis called everyone to a meeting in his and Harry’s room. They had to share rooms back then, and Niall had landed the single room that time, which none of them thought was the best idea at the moment. Louis looked at Niall—pale and grey like a blown-out light bulb—and he knew something needed to be done. They all piled onto Louis’ twin bed, Zayn massaging Niall’s shoulders, trying to ease Niall back into himself.

“That was mental,” Louis said, stating the obvious. “But,” and this part is what he’d been thinking about, this was what had him nervous. “I think it’s going to get worse from here.”

“Worse than that?” Harry was incredulous. “Niall nearly died, how can it possibly be worse?”

Niall huffed out a little ghost of a laugh, and they knew he would soon come back to himself.

“What I mean is,” Louis tried to explain. “If this is going to be our job now, we’ll have tighter security, sure. But we’re also going to keep getting more fans. That’s the goal, yeah? So, yes, it’s going to get worse.”

Zayn had gripped even harder into Niall’s shoulder at these words, and Louis suspected he was holding on just as much for his own benefit as for Niall’s.

“Where are you going with this, Louis?” Liam asked, his eyes also flicking over to Zayn and Niall.

“Just that, this is going to be difficult. Stressful sometimes. We should agree not to take it out on the fans, and not to take it out on each other, either.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Liam agreed. “We can never take it out on the fans. They mean well.”

“Or each other,” Louis emphasized, staring Liam down.

Liam looked him in the eye and gave a sharp nod of his head. Even then Louis knew Liam was only capable of sincerity, and so he returned the nod, the two of them silently promising between each other.

“This is nice and sentimental,” Zayn had cut in. “And I do agree with you, Louis. But I’m sensing you have an idea as to how we should relieve our stress instead…” Zayn raised an eyebrow at Louis, and there was a gleam in his eye, like he was hoping he’d be up for this idea.

Louis threw back his head and cackled. “Of course I do, come on!”

He jumped off the bed, the other four following at their own pace: Zayn and Niall together, Harry loping along behind them, and Liam last, making sure to grab a room key on his way out.

The five of them tore their way down the hotel corridor, Louis whooping like some bizarre, happy banshee. They didn’t have as much security detail with them back then (although they would directly after that experience), but Paul still knew to keep an eye out, and Louis wasn’t exactly being subtle.

Harry, Zayn, and Liam were caught, while Louis and Niall just managed to hop onto the lift without anyone to catch them.

“Louis, be careful!” Liam shouted, as the lift doors closed, leaving Louis and Niall on their own.

Louis pressed every single button because it made Niall sink back into the wall with laughter, forgetting himself and the tension of earlier. The poor, confused lift ended up taking them to a floor they definitely weren’t supposed to be on. Empty at the moment, the floor looked as though it was usually reserved for business meetings, with a mahogany desk and empty chair poised outside of a conference room.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anyone around,” Niall commented, peeking into the conference room. “We’ve found our own floor.”

“It’s our secret,” Louis had said, sliding onto the desk, and nearly knocking over a vase in the process.

But it wasn’t their secret, as two voices became clear in the distance. Louis and Niall looked at each other for a moment, and then the two of them made to dive under the desk. Squished in the dim lighting, the comforting smell of mahogany enveloping them, Louis realized he was still holding the vase. Niall pointed to it, silently questioning Louis, but Louis just held a finger to his lips.

The two French people turned out to be hotel maids on a cigarette break. They spoke in rapid French, but Louis definitely understood the word “cigarette” and the reverent tone in which it was pronounced. They disappeared somewhere around the corner, perhaps out onto a balcony, or up to the roof. Louis and Niall remained under the desk for a few moments longer, bodies tangled together, staring into each other’s eyes in the dim lighting, and hardly daring to breathe for fear of making too much noise. It was the first time they had been really silent and still with each other.

Louis would have loved to find a way to the roof, but Niall started pulling at his sleeve. _Come on_ , he mouthed to Louis. Louis noticed that he still looked vaguely panicked, so he wrapped a steadying hand around Niall’s elbow and let Niall lead him away.

The two of them crept quietly across the carpet to the lifts, Louis still clutching onto the vase. It looked to be made of blown glass. Most of the vase was transparent, but swirls of light blue appeared throughout the design. Louis had no idea how the artist had accomplished this, and he held onto the vase as he and Niall made their way back to their own floor. Niall didn’t say anything about it.

Louis walked Niall to his room. “Will you be alright, Nialler?” he asked.

In answer Niall flashed him a smile that Louis had never seen before: small, but burning from within. That’s how Louis left Niall: rekindled.

Back in his own room, Harry had questioned Louis about the vase. “Where did you get that? It’s actually really nice. Cool design.”

But Louis merely shook his head and winked as he wrapped the vase carefully in one of his hoodies and placed it in his suitcase.

“Oh my god, did you nick it? Where from? From the hotel? They’ll find you, Louis,” Harry hissed at him.

“No one will know,” Louis insisted. “Besides, it was for Niall. It was for…” he flailed his arms around, trying to communicate, “everything.”

Harry somehow managed to frown at him with his whole face. The sight might have been alarming, except that nothing about Harry really alarmed Louis. It was why things were easy between them in the beginning.

Finally, Harry’s expression broke. “You’re so weird,” he declared, and then flopped down on his bed laughing to himself.

Louis brought the vase home from Paris, and it sat on his dresser for a few weeks before he remembered what he had said. He dug up a box and some tissue paper to wrap it in. He drew a smiley face on a piece of paper as an accompanying note, and then posted the box to Niall.

Louis and Niall never mentioned the vase between them again, but Louis has noticed something about Niall’s flat. Niall has a shelf where he keeps all the awards the group has won so far. Towards the back of the shelf, behind one of the BRITs, there’s an object that might be easy to miss because it’s transparent except for one brilliant, arresting streak of blue.

+

Paul has been shooting Louis pointed glances all week, but Louis is studiously avoiding taking any notice. The painting situation is one hundred percent his fault, he will admit. But, as he valiantly maintains, the broken television in his room in Spain is not. It’s Liam’s fault, but he won’t sell Liam out.

Well, the Ritz Barcelona did offer a special bartending service, so of course Louis had requested that a bartender come up to his suite to mix up sangria and martinis (there had been champagne as well, but Louis had steered clear this time). 

He had invited everyone over. Even Paul himself had made an appearance, although he left before things got too wild. Josh was doing handstands, and was determined to walk on his hands around the room, and Niall was filming the whole thing. Then Niall left with Harry—which Louis noticed with a watchful eye—to do whatever it is that Niall and Harry do together.

Zayn had left, too, taking a phone call from Perrie. Finally, the bartender left, and, eventually, it was just Louis and Liam alone with a whole tray of dry vermouth and vodka. A line was drawn down the middle of the room, the place was declared a war zone, and the two of them were throwing anything they could get their hands on at each other. 

Liam threw a book (why Zayn had brought a book over to Louis’ room is the real mystery, in Louis’ opinion), which Louis managed to duck. The problem was, it was a hardback book. It smacked into the television, hitting in just the right spot so that there was a cracking noise. Then the television had slipped from the wall and flopped screen-first onto the desk below.

It had seemed wildly funny at first, Louis and Liam rolling around on the floor clutching their stomachs, until Louis realized it meant that he couldn’t actually watch television anymore.

“We could go to my room,” Liam suggested.

“No,” Louis groaned, rolling on his side and squashing his face in Liam’s shoulder. “What’s the point, I’m already comfortable here.”

Liam wrapped an arm around him, pulling him in closer, so that Louis could feel him laughing. Louis placed a hand on Liam’s chest to leverage himself up, and he planted a kiss right on Liam’s lips. Kissing is allowed, he and Eleanor have an agreement. Although, as he tried to think through a haze (Liam’s mouth was much more diverting than television), he and Niall never kiss. Not the way Liam was kissing, anyway. The vermouth did its job, cutting the strength of the pure vodka, so that the kiss between them tasted like black liquorice: sweet, but somehow grown-up. Louis was just drunk and comfortable enough to wonder fleetingly why he never does this with Niall. He can’t remember if he had come up with an answer.

The two of them drifted off to sleep still curled up on the floor. Louis’ back hurt the next morning, but not as badly as his head when he remembered he would have to tell Paul about the television. Louis had dropped the news casually into conversation while Paul was wrapping up last minute details with the hotel staff, and then he hightailed it to the bus.

Now, a few days later, Paul finally corners him.

“I believe you when you said the television wasn’t your fault,” he begins.

“Thank you.”

“I can tell when you’re lying.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t.”

“Of course I can, don’t _you_ be ridiculous. You blink too quickly when you’re lying, and it makes you look like a chipmunk. Anyway, the label has agreed to pay for that damage, but the money for the painting fiasco is coming out of your paycheck. The label is also putting up extra money so that the hotel agrees not to go to the press with the news that you’re a thieving lunatic.”

“I don’t mind paying for it.”

Louis is afraid Paul pulls a muscle rolling his eyes. “Good, because the bartending fee is being put on your tab as well.”

“That’s fine.”

“We have this last show in Portugal now. Please, let’s make it out of Europe relatively unscathed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Louis gives a mock salute, but he kind of means it. He means it about the money, at least. That really isn’t a big deal to him. He intended to pay for the bartending service anyway. And Louis would have offered to pay the hotel in Italy for the painting outright. In fact, he realizes, maybe he would have thought to do that if he hadn’t also been drinking at the time.

He wanders down the aisle of the bus towards his bunk. The painting is propped up against the wall near where he sleeps. He wanted to hang it up on the bus, but was voted down.

“Not a chance” Zayn said, pinching Louis’ cheeks. “You’re deranged, bro. That painting is rubbish.”

“Is not!”

Zayn shook his head, like the situation was hopeless. “You’re a total dilettante, mate.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds nice," Louis said, ignoring Zayn’s laughter.

Now, Louis props the painting up with his foot as the bus goes around a bend, and thinks to himself about the evening he took it. Why hadn’t he thought to simply ask if he could purchase the painting, work out a deal? Louis is excellent at negotiating. But he had thought to spend money on champagne, not artwork.

There had been a distortion somehow. Louis thought he and Niall understood each other, but then maybe they didn’t. Or maybe it was the other way around. Niall had to keep reminding him that they were in Italy, not France. Hindsight isn’t illuminating for Louis, he can’t see where he had gone wrong. The colors of the painting looked so thrilling as viewed through his champagne glass. And Niall’s eyes were so bright.

There’s an odd cough, like someone’s doing it on purpose, and Louis jumps to attention. It’s Niall.

“I hear we’re going to be there soon,” he says to Louis, sounding almost shy.

“Alright, cool,” Louis answers. “Wait, the hotel or the venue?”

Niall’s forehead wrinkles. “Do you know, I’m actually not sure. I didn’t hear what the destination was, just that we’re nearly there.”

“I guess we’ll see,” Louis shrugs.

Niall gives him a smile, and this time, the smile is a signal that the conversation is over.  
Now Louis is certain of one thing. He wasn’t imagining it the other week in Italy, that hard edge to Niall. Because Niall smiles at him, and he smiles back, and they both mean it. But there’s an undercurrent, a ripple of something else. There’s a brittle tension between the two of them, and Louis isn’t sure whether it’s coming from himself or from Niall.

+

“Are you really going to hang that up?” Eleanor asks, crossing her arms and leaning her hips against the doorframe.

“Of course!” Louis calls. “It’s my painting, why wouldn’t I hang it up?”

“Because it’s your _stolen_ painting.”

Louis sets the painting down on the floor of his game room and rubs at his eyes. “I knew what I was doing,” he tries to explain. “Niall and I talked about it, and then he helped me unhook the painting.”

“Niall?” Eleanor asks, her eyebrows forming a stern line.

“Yes, Niall helped me.”

“Hmm.”

“Are you disappointed that I couldn’t pull off this heist all alone? Don’t worry, so am I.”

There’s the twinge of a smile at the corner of Eleanor’s mouth, which Louis has wanted to see all afternoon now. “Be careful,” is all she says. She doesn’t elaborate any further.

“Speaking of help,” Louis takes the painting in hand again. “Any chance you want to give me a hand with this?”

“Zero chance. You know I’m not setting foot in this room.” She sweeps an arm out wide to indicate the space beyond the threshold.

“Is it because of the Iron Man suit? I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but this is where Iron Man lives now.”

“This is your room,” Eleanor replies in a serious tone, pointedly ignoring anything to do with Iron Man. “It’s for your awards, and your trophies, and your toys. It’s your space, it’s not for me.”

Louis hoists the painting upward, trying to make sure that it won’t be crooked where it hangs on the wall. He’s noticed that Eleanor hasn’t said anything about her opinion of the artwork, choosing instead to focus on its stolen origins. Anyway, that’s all a small detail now, because Louis has since paid the hotel for it, actually witnessing the money being debited from his bank account. He didn’t feel anything while watching the numbers decrease, not guilt, not sadness, just nothing. That numbness contrasts starkly with the champagne-tinged excitement of trying to explain to Niall what he wanted to do, and standing side-by-side with him, prying the painting away from the wall.

Like Eleanor, Niall hadn’t commented on the artwork either, again preferring to focus on the tedious stolen property aspect of things. Some people lack imagination, Louis decides, as he hooks the painting to the portrait nails on the wall. When he takes a step back, it’s to look at Eleanor instead of immediately observing his handiwork. She’s still on the other side of the threshold, leaning against the doorframe, and smiling at him.

“That Iron Man suit really is the most absurd thing I’ve ever seen.”

“More absurd than me displaying a painting that I’ve stolen?”

“Alright, it’s a push.”

Eleanor does a little shimmy with her hips as she stands up straight and starts to walk away. Louis brushes his fringe out of his eyes to see her more clearly. She’s dressed in all black, and, quite honestly, it’s a nice contrast to the colorful painting. It’s a relief, somehow, and the monotone is compelling in its own way. He follows her.

Louis backs Eleanor up against the wall just in front of the staircase. She raises an eyebrow, waiting for him, or perhaps daring him to say something. 

“You’ll never stop fighting me about that Iron Man suit, will you?”

“Would you want me to stop fighting you?” She asks, pulling at his shirt collar.

“Never.” 

He leans in to kiss her, and she kisses him back like she knew that would be his answer.

+

Louis is in trouble as soon as he steps off the plane into the hot Mexico sun. He can tell because Paul is holding his mobile up to his ear with one arm, and flapping the other around in confusion. He spots Louis and points one finger at him.

Louis heaves a sigh and drops his bags on the ground. He might as well be comfortable for this.

“Tomlinson!” He yells in a gruff voice, marching over. “Perhaps you can explain why I have a voice message asking me to confirm the twenty-four-hour rental of a yacht for next week?”

“The company required a co-signer, so I gave your name.” Paul’s face is red, and his eyes are still narrowed like he doesn’t understand yet. “We’re renting a yacht, Paul, you and me.” Louis claps him on the shoulder, and Paul smacks his hand away.

“Who exactly is paying for this yacht? Because it certainly won’t be me.”

“It’s on my tab.”

“Louis,” Paul closes his eyes and massages his forehead. “I know that you don’t think you’re being reckless with money because that’s not how you think. But other people—people at the label, for instance—do think that way. I’m worried about what they might say to you. You should warn people ahead of time before you arrange for things like this.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Louis asks, slinging one of his bags over his shoulder. He’s fresh off an eight hour flight, and what he’d really like to do right now is end this conversation and take a shower. “I appreciate your concern, Paul, I really do. But it isn’t anyone’s business how I spend my money.”

“Don’t be naive. It’s everyone’s business.”

“Jesus Christ!” Louis erupts. “The yacht is for everyone, alright? I know we have a break in shows while we’re in Florida, so I rented it for a little fun. Come on,” Louis goes to pinch Paul’s arm. “We’ve got to live while we’re young.”

“No.” Paul slaps at Louis’ hand. “I’m already old.” He picks up Louis’ other carry-on bag, and motions that they should start walking. “But since I’m a co-signer, I’ll see you on that yacht.”

+

Louis has noticed that Niall is so slight that, sometimes, when he turns a certain way in the light, it consumes him and he seems to disappear.

Louis thinks that he does disappear. He thinks that maybe Niall goes off to visit different worlds, different universes. Maybe he’s found one that allows him to spend as much time as he wants with his family and friends, watching the match down at the pub just like normal, and then return to the group in the blink of an eye.

Louis knows he can’t disappear like that. He’s too dense, has too many attachments to this specific world. There’s Eleanor, of course. And his mum and his sisters are his anchors. There’s something else, too: a void in place of a father, the ghost of a different last name. 

It isn’t a problem for Louis, per se, the absence where one might normally find a steady father figure. Louis isn’t sad about it. But it is shocking. It’s shocking how a permanent absence casts an immoveable weight, exerting a pressure, sometimes leaving Louis gasping for breath.

It’s not that Niall wouldn’t understand this; his family has its own complications, after all. But Niall does _something_ that keeps him light on his feet despite two bad knees, and it’s something that Louis can’t catch onto.  
Louis stands opposite Niall, watching him sway back and forth in the bright sunlit afternoon, his shadow casting a long line on the ground. “Come on, Tommo!” He calls. “Give us a shot. I’m open!”

It takes Louis a moment, but then he remembers the football idling between his feet. He kicks it across the pavement to Niall and watches as he moves to meet the ball. Louis remains rooted to the spot, watching as Niall turns into a gleaming blur of light as he runs. Louis stands, transfixed.

+

The yacht is a smashing success, even Paul has to admit it.

It’s a gorgeous day in June, not yet late enough in the summer to be too unbearably humid. The sun beats down without any challenge of rain or a storm. Everyone is lounging around in shorts and sunglasses. Niall and Paul are careful to slather on sunscreen, while Harry and Zayn choose to camp out on deck in the hottest place possible to really soak it in.

The fridge in the downstairs area is stocked full of beer, plenty of Corona and lime slices. Louis, Liam, and Niall spend some time in the dim interior. They’re not complete fools, they know the paparazzi are probably swarming in boats of their own, dying to catch a shot of underage drinking. There’s no way Niall is going to miss an opportunity to drink, and Liam has become quite an impressive boozehound himself, so this is the solution. Louis stays below deck to drink with them because drinking is more fun with company. 

Later, the boat docks, but no one makes a move to leave yet. There’s a moment where the five of them are sitting out on deck. Each of them are separate, doing their own thing. Zayn is stretched out on a bench seat, joint in hand; Harry is spread out on a beach towel on the deck floor; Niall is sat with his snapback over his face and might possibly be asleep; and Liam is playing around with a fishing rod. Louis observes all of this from his spot, sat at the table and shuffling through a deck of cards. He’s probably had too much to drink and then spent too much time in the sun, but moments like this make him a little sentimental. It’s just nice to be out in the sun with everyone, separate, but still together.

He wanders over to Zayn, who has one arm thrown over his eyes. “Hey,” Louis says, gently prying the arm away so he can look Zayn in the eye. “Willing to share?” And he indicates the joint languishing in Zayn’s other hand.

Zayn squints up at him, or maybe it’s just because of the sun. “Are you sure, bro?” Louis nods, and Zayn hands it over without hesitation. “Knock yourself out. Figuratively, I mean.”

“Idiot,” Louis laughs at him, but then runs his fingertips over Zayn’s shoulder in a gentle thank you, his skin feeling all sun-baked from being outdoors. 

Louis’s head is already feeling smoothed out from all the beer earlier. He takes a hit, and the smoke seems to swirl infinitely inside of him, curling up in all the cracks in between his thoughts and memories, before he breathes out.

“That’s some good shit, Malik”

“Sure, act like you know,” Zayn retorts, but winks up at Louis.

The concept of time turns elastic, and Louis isn’t sure if it’s a minute or maybe an hour later when a voice cuts through the peaceful afternoon.

“I have to leave. I can’t be in the sun anymore.”

Louis stands up, and his eyes come into focus on Niall. He’s standing across the deck from Louis, a snapback in hand, his cheeks red, his hair flattening onto his forehead in a sweaty mess. It’s strange, Louis thinks, how Niall can be so much like sunlight, and yet be affected adversely by it. Niall is so bright himself, how can he not thrive in the sun?

Louis takes a step forward. He wants to know. “What is it with you and the sun?” is the accusatory question that ends up tumbling out of his mouth. 

Niall’s head snaps up. His blue eyes stand out fiercely in contrast to his flushed face and, when he turns his gaze toward Louis, it’s like looking directly into a car’s high beams. “I’m Irish. You might’ve heard me mention it once or twice over the years.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant.” Louis tries to correct himself, but his mouth is terribly dry all of a sudden and it’s difficult to speak. He feels Zayn’s hand curling around his wrist, maybe in support, or maybe in warning. “I’m sorry, I mean, why can’t you be in the sun?”

“Being in the sun for too long makes me feel ill. Haven’t I told you this before?” Niall replies in an exasperated tone, which implies he’s definitely explained this to Louis numerous times. 

“Oh.” But it still doesn’t make sense to Louis. Can the sun make itself ill?

“Niall, are you leaving?” Harry calls. “Wait, I’ll go with you.”

Louis remains standing, his eyes narrowed and his shoulders tense, as he watches Niall disembark with Harry. Liam makes sure the two of them are safely on land, and then walks over to Louis and Zayn. He gives Louis’ shoulders a quick massage, then sits down next to Zayn. Louis flops down next to Liam because he doesn’t seem to have any other choice.

Zayn lights up again and shares with Liam. Louis waves it off for now, his mind beginning to come back to itself. 

He never kisses Niall. Sure, a kiss on the cheek to say goodbye, or a sloppy and half-forgotten New Year’s kiss, but that’s it. Louis looks over at Zayn and Liam. Smoke issues unevenly from Liam’s mouth as he coughs, while Zayn pats him gently on the back. Louis doesn’t kiss Harry anymore, not for a long time now. But he’s kissed Zayn and Liam, and will probably continue to do so. He does it for different reasons, sometimes because he’s lonely, or because he’s horny, or simply because he’s in a good mood and likes the company. And, anyway, Eleanor knows. He wonders if she knows that he doesn’t kiss Niall.

All of this is to say that he’s pretty sure Niall and Harry kiss, and maybe do more than that. They don’t spend time together merely to discuss their golf handicaps, after all. (Although they’re both massive dorks, so they definitely do discuss that.) Louis is also certain that Niall and Zayn have something going on. It isn’t Louis’ fault for noticing, sometimes they’re fairly obvious about it in public, even during shows. And it’s always to do with each other’s nipples. Louis catches sight of it out of the corner of his eye sometimes. It’s like a game between the two of them, and the idea sets something alight in the pit of Louis’ stomach. It’s not jealousy, exactly, although games are kind of Louis’ modus operandi. It’s want. Because Louis can smack Niall around and pinch his nipples, but he doesn’t have _that_. Louis and Niall don’t have something that’s all their own. They don’t kiss.

Louis leans his head back, and it knocks painfully against the deck railing.

+

The exhaustion isn’t the most difficult part of touring, not entirely. The difficult part isn’t even the monotony of performing the same show day in and day out with the same people, although that’s certainly part of it. It’s the powerlessness that Louis feels in the face of the almighty itinerary. Tour dates loom, booked months and months in advance, and seem to laugh at Louis’ attempts to make decisions about his own life. It doesn’t matter if it’s his mum’s birthday, doesn’t matter if he falls ill. It hardly even matters if someone dies. The tickets have been sold, and the show will go on.

The unshakeable certainty of the itinerary has an anesthetic quality. Louis can feel his limbs deadening, one by one. Perhaps the others don’t feel it in quite the same way, or don’t mind it. For instance, Zayn always moves at his own pace, no matter what. But Louis doesn’t like to sleep as much as Zayn does. Louis wants desperately to live his life awake. He shakes his feet and flexes his hands, trying to wake himself up. It’s painful, trying to bring life back to the places where it’s been filtered away, but Louis is determined to do it.

+

Sometimes, everything backfires. 

Louis had been doing rather well, in his own opinion. That is, until they had arrived in Louisville. And, well, what did anyone expect? Naturally he was going to filch everything he possibly could with the word Louisville on it. 

It _isn’t_ kleptomania. It’s a baseball cap. It’s a magnetic plaque he nicked off a door. It’s rebellion. It’s spontaneous. It’s his name. 

Louis steps off the bus into the baking Virginia sun at their next stop and sees Paul walking towards him. He drops his bag on the ground and folds his arms across his chest. This again.

Paul holds up a hand as though to calm him. “Louis,” he begins, and Louis notices that his tone is more gentle than angry. This can’t be good.

“Look,” Paul tries to explain. “It seems your reputation has preceded you. Apparently hotel managers talk, and news travels quickly.”

“What in god’s name are you on about?”

Paul sets a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder, and that’s how Louis knows that he’s really fucked this time.

“I’m saying this for your own good,” Paul says in a low voice, looking him directly in the eye. “You need to lie low for a little while.”

“What do you mean, exactly?” Louis asks, shifting around on his feet, and looking at the ground for his overnight bag.

Paul somehow makes himself bigger, until he’s the only thing Louis can see in front of him. The body language is obvious enough, and Louis feels his own shoulders fall as he starts to turn away. He doesn’t need to be told twice that a boundary has been drawn, and that he isn’t to cross over into the hotel. 

“What’s this?” a familiar voice asks. 

Louis looks up to see Zayn looking between himself and Paul, quickly assessing the situation. He’d forgotten that Zayn was the last one still on the bus when he’d stepped off. Louis wishes Zayn had already been inside, doesn’t know how to explain that he’s been struck speechless, and more powerless than ever.

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis growls out, but Zayn doesn’t flinch.

“Come on,” Zayn says, grabbing Louis’ arm with a steadying hand. “Let’s get back on the bus.”

“Thank you,” Louis hears Paul say to Zayn. And “See you in a bit, Louis,” must be directed at him, but he isn’t paying attention.

“We’ll stay on the bus,” Zayn is saying. “The two of us.”

Louis lets Zayn lead him back up the stairs onto the bus, and all the way to the lounge in the back, where Louis sits down while Zayn goes to speak with the driver.

Louis sits perched at the edge of the sofa in the lounge for a long time, as the afternoon sunlight grows more intense, and then begins to fade. Zayn lights up and puts on some music. He doesn’t ask any questions.

Louis remains still. Sometimes that’s what a storm is: silent, contemplative, shocked, and brewing all at once.

+

Eleanor doesn’t laugh when Louis tells her what’s happened. She doesn’t seem angry or exasperated with him either. The only question she asks is: “Are you alone?”

“Zayn is staying with me,” he explains. “Sometimes Liam, too.”

“Good,” Eleanor sighs out. Her relief is palpable even over the phone line, even an ocean away. “Just Zayn and Liam though?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” Louis pauses. “The others,” he decides he isn’t going to name Niall specifically, “well, they prefer the hotel.”

“Okay.” Eleanor accepts this. “I’m just glad you’re not alone.”

Living with Zayn is great. The fact that they happen to be living on a bus is incidental, Louis tells himself. Sometimes Zayn is quiet in his downtime, sleeping or reading, or simply gazing out the window. That’s okay, Louis can make enough noise for the both of them. Other times, Zayn is hyped-up, gets into DJ Malik mode, and he and Louis blast music for hours on end. 

The rules seem to be this: that Louis is allowed to cause a scene (like blasting music at top volume, for instance) as long as it’s on their own territory, i.e. the bus. He is not to draw attention to himself in places where other people have jurisdiction, such as hotels and restaurants, because the label is tired of vouching for him and, quite frankly, various people are angry with him.

Louis does try to keep a slightly professional air while visiting the performance venues. He recognizes that he has a job, after all. Make that a very slightly professional air, because food fights are a routine occurrence and can’t be helped.

Paul finds him after a particularly messy one, mouth twisting into a frown. Louis laughs just to see how much the frown can deepen. It turns out not to be a terribly funny sight.

“I’m in trouble again, I know,” he gasps out, breathless from the fight. “Why don’t you want me to have any fun, Paul?”

He’s joking, he really is. It’s a stupid thing to say, but Paul takes it seriously. “You idiot,” he says in a very quiet voice. “It’s my job to protect you. I’m worried about you and the consequences of your fun. That’s it, that’s all it is. It’s me being worried about you.”

After that, Louis makes an effort. Even though it costs him, even though he can feel the deadening effects viscerally, he avoids hotels, with their fancy lobbies, their newly-equipped gyms, and their expensive restaurants, because he knows now that these constitute red flags for Paul. Louis lies low with Zayn.

Zayn is good at knowing when to let something go, and when to talk about it. One night, he seems to decide that he’s let Louis off the hook for long enough.

“So,” Zayn strolls into the lounge where Louis is fighting with the dvd player. “What did you take?”

“What?” Louis asks. He’s busy smacking the dvd player with the remote, which, shockingly, doesn’t help anything.

Zayn puts a steadying hand on top of Louis’ and pries the remote away. “What was the last straw? Why did you get thrown out of the hotels? I assumed you’d stolen something else, but,” Zayn pauses and smiles at him. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

“Actually,” Louis turns to face Zayn. “I’m not sure. I would’ve thought that painting I stole would do it, but that was months ago. Someone must’ve found out about it.”

Zayn frowns and takes a step closer to Louis. “You mean you didn’t do anything recently?”

“I didn’t say that.” Louis can’t help the sly grin spreading across his face. “There was this umbrella stand. Unbelievably, it was shaped like a mallard duck. Niall was laughing at it. It was so stupid and weird, and, I mean, come on! No hotel needs that.”

Zayn drapes an arm over Louis’ shoulder, and he’s so close now that Louis can see all his eyelashes. “And you obviously do need it?”

“Obviously.”

Zayn smirks at him. He curls a hand around Louis’ neck, soft fingertips teasing at the fine hair at the nape there.

“Alright,” Louis admits, falling forward even further into Zayn. “There was the Louisville hat, too. It isn’t even a proper snapback, Niall wouldn’t wear it. It’s just a flimsy baseball cap. I shouldn’t have taken it, but no one stopped me.”

Zayn uncurls his hand from Louis’ neck and slides it under his jaw instead, tilting Louis’ head back, so he can really look at him. “Is that what you’re waiting for? Someone to stop you?”

Louis’ mouth falls open a little bit. He can’t help it from his position where he’s being held. Sometimes it’s startling how good Zayn is at articulating things. 

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Eleanor only said to be careful. And Paul said to lie low and not draw attention to myself. It’s not quite the same as stopping me outright, is it?” 

“Hmm.” Zayn runs a finger across Louis’ lower lip as he considers.

“Would you?” Louis asks. “Would you stop me?”

Zayn leans down and kisses Louis. It’s a way of continuing the conversation, of continuing to think. Zayn communicates a lot things, and he doesn’t always need to use words in order to do so. Tonight Zayn tastes like cigarettes, and something deeper, too, like black coffee brewed in the middle of the night.

Zayn pulls back just enough so that he can speak. “I think I would. If it were something important, I would stop you. But,” a smile breaks out across his face. “What the fuck do I care about an umbrella stand?”

“My point exactly,” Louis cries in vindication.

+

The most difficult thing to work out logistically turns out to be ordering food, as Louis discovers when he attempts to enter: 

Bus 1  
Hilton parking lot  
Near the overgrown shrubbery  
I think we’re in Pennsylvania??

into the little address bar when ordering Dominoes. He does not receive his pizza.

The bus driver turns out be very friendly and dedicated to the cause, but he’s mostly good for breakfast food: sticky danishes and rolls of bread with packets of butter. That’s no way for a man to subsist. There’s only one person Louis can turn to for legitimate help with this situation. 

“Don’t worry, mate,” Niall says, clapping him on the back. “I can arrange any kind of food for you. I have it covered.”

And he isn’t lying. Late one night after a show, Niall appears on the bus carrying two plastic bags full of containers of food. 

“Where did you get this?” Louis asks in awe, as he opens a container of macaroni and cheese.

“That’s for me to know,” Niall answers in a maddeningly mysterious voice. “And for you to enjoy.”

“Zayn!” Louis calls down the bus. “Hurry up, Niall bought out a whole restaurant for us!”

Niall sits down at the little kitchen table because of course he’s brought enough food for himself, too. Louis is so busy with his own food, and it’s not until Zayn leaves to take an unexpected phone call from Perrie, that he notices what Niall is eating.

“You must be joking,” Louis says with a laugh. “Did someone just hand you an entire cake, or what?”

“No.” Niall looks like he isn’t sure whether to laugh or be offended.

“Wait, it wasn’t someone’s birthday, was it?” Louis asks, an edge creeping into his voice. It’s fun, building a private island on the bus with Zayn, but it’s also isolating. He would hate to forget a crew member’s birthday because he’s away from everyone else.

Niall gives him a small, knowing smile. “It’s my cake,” he says simply. “Do you want some?”

Louis blinks. Niall has one eyebrow raised, waiting for an answer. “Sure,” Louis says slowly. “Could I try a bite?”

Louis should know Niall. He should know not to expect Niall to daintily cut a piece of cake and hand it over without any crumbs. But Louis is wholly unprepared for Niall to swipe a piece of cake with his hand and hold it out to Louis. 

It’s yellow cake with chocolate icing, and Niall is holding a piece of it between his thumb and forefinger, just in front of Louis’ face. Louis feels like he’s missing something. “Oh,” he says, stupidly. Niall takes advantage of Louis’ open mouth to pop the piece of cake in. He does it swiftly, not even taking the opportunity to smear icing on Louis’ face.

Louis blinks again. Niall returns to making his own way through the cake as though everything is completely normal. Louis feels something trembling in his stomach that he should know has nothing to do with the smooth, sweet dessert. He swallows his bite of cake and considers Niall’s profile. He still sees something serious there, something forming into a hard-edged line, but Louis can’t yet define it for himself.

“Good icing,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to offer Niall at the moment.

“Right? Cake is pointless if the icing is rubbish.”

“Never thought I’d hear you deeming any type of food pointless,” Louis says with a grin.

Niall grins back.

+

Being onstage with Niall is easy, it always has been. Sometimes they perform at outdoor venues, but usually their shows are indoors, in the dark. It should be impossible for the sun to be indoors, and yet, Niall is always there, effortlessly lighting up the arena, and lifting the show up with him.

During rehearsals for their second tour, Louis had gestured to Niall to come stand at the center of the room with him.

“Right,” Louis explained. “We’re going to start off the show, really set the stage, you and me.” He waved a hand in the direction of Zayn, Liam, and Harry. Liam was looking at something on his phone, while Zayn was leaning over Liam, listening to something Harry was saying. Louis looked back to Niall. “See those three? They’re useless.”

Niall nodded. “Irrelevant. I agree.”

“We’ll have to make sure the fans are into it, and having a good time from start to finish. Like, keep checking in with each other, and with the fans.”

“Yes. Oh! And I know what else we can do,” Niall had burst out in excitement. “We should call out the fans who try to leave early. I mean, do they think we can’t see them? Running off to the car park early, as if that helps anything.”

“Genius!” Louis half-punched, half-clapped Niall on the shoulder. “Traffic is fucked, but why would anyone leave a gig early just to avoid it? I’ve never done that in my life.” 

“Neither. It’s mad.”

“Is anyone taking notes?” Louis looked around the room. “We have to remember to do this.” 

“I have the notes all right here,” Niall assured, tapping his forehead and doing a ridiculous smirk.

Their vocal coach laughed at them from the corner of the room. “You two have certainly got the banter down,” she told them. “Just speak like that, the fans will eat it up.”

“How dare you laugh at this very serious conversation,” Louis retorted, hoping that she knew he meant _thank you_.

Of course it’s a joke to think that anyone in the group is useless or irrelevant, especially Harry or Zayn or Liam. Louis isn’t blind to it, and he knows that Niall isn’t either. But there’s a moment every show, when Niall leans in toward Louis with a smile, and asks, “How’s the show going for you tonight, Louis?”

Louis always keeps Niall and the fans waiting, just for a second, because he wants to live in that moment where Niall is smiling at him with what feels like a secret. Then he reciprocates, leans in toward Niall, and returns the smile, answering: “Do you know what, I reckon this is the best show so far!” inevitably sending the crowd into an uproar.

Whatever hard edge is forming around Niall melts away while he performs, and both the fans and Louis drink Niall in like plants drinking in sunlight. Louis soaks Niall up, and it gives him the energy to go on with the show even when he’s feeling poorly, or having a bad night, or has just been unofficially banned from staying in hotels. He bounces around, messing with Niall and Liam, checking in with Zayn, and making sure that Harry doesn’t get accidentally crushed to death by the flying platform, and, generally, everything goes well.

The fans seem to get louder and more passionate every show, which is impossible, and mad, and wonderful. But strangely enough, the thing that resonates most for Louis while performing are those small, silent moments when he and Niall lean in toward each other onstage, sharing a smile as the crowd surrounding them cheers. It’s those moments that make Louis feel like it isn’t so silly or so much of a joke to think that, yes, this show belongs to the two of them. 

+

Louis has had the day off, but it’s felt longer than any work day. He went shopping earlier, met up with Liam, had a greasy lunch, and bought some new video games. All very normal. Except that Niall hasn’t answered his texts all day, which is a bit odd. Anyway, now that Louis is back on the bus, Liam has disappeared off to the gym. Louis has opened up all his new video games, but he doesn’t feel excited to play them. He feels itchy under his skin.

Zayn is lounging on the sofa, flipping through a magazine. Louis can tell he’s about to doze off by the extreme heaviness of his eyelids, and the desultory way he’s flicking through the pages. The magazine will be lying flat on Zayn’s face in another minute with him snoring lightly underneath. Zayn understands a lot of things, more than most people do. But he doesn’t understand restlessness. He doesn’t understand the purely visceral drive that keeps Louis moving.

Louis picks up his mobile, and this time he actually dials Niall’s number. No answer. He hasn’t eaten since lunch, and his version of room service seems to be unavailable. Louis glances over at Zayn again and, sure enough, the magazine is resting on his chest and his eyes are closed. Louis pockets his mobile, his hands shaking. It’s time to make a break for it.

He isn’t sure what he expects, sirens going off as he steps over the threshold into the hotel, perhaps? But there’s no telltale alarm, nothing to indicate that something out of the ordinary is happening. Louis gives a little shrug, throws his shoulders back, and walks through the lobby like he knows where he’s going.

In reality Louis has no idea where the hotel restaurant is, and doesn’t even know what floor the rest of the lads are staying on, so he spends quite a bit of time wandering aimlessly. During the course of this, he passes a coat room. Louis stops and doubles back to look at the coat room again. He blinks. It seems that, yes, it really is Harry, sat on the floor with his chin resting on his knees, alone in this random room. Louis gives a little knock on the wall as he approaches. It feels like he ought to knock.

“Harry?”

“Yeah. Hey.” Harry’s voice comes out more gravelly than usual, and Louis wonders if he’s been singing. Or crying.

“Er,” Louis looks around the small room. It’s a bit dim, and there’s one lonely coat hanging on the rack. “What are you doing?”

“Resting,” Harry answers, pretty unhelpfully, in Louis’ opinion.

“Yes, but why are you resting here specifically? Has something happened? You’re not usually… well, you don’t usually spend a lot of time alone.”

“What are _you_ doing here?” Harry growls at him. “Aren’t you, like, not allowed in hotels anymore? You shouldn’t be here badgering me with annoying questions.”

Harry is a tremendous brat sometimes, Louis thinks, and he doesn’t get nearly enough credit for it. “I’m looking for Niall,” Louis tells him, folding his arms across his chest in defense. “He hasn’t answered his phone all day.”

“Oh that,” Harry laughs. “We were playing golf, and we both had our phones switched off. It’s a course rule.”

“Just one more reason for me to never play golf.”

“Yeah, but the main reason is that you’re shit at it though.”

Louis drops his hands to his hips. “What the fuck is going on, Harry?” he demands in a more biting tone than necessary. He would regret it, except it slices right through Harry’s pouty mood.

Harry leans back against the wall and looks Louis in the eye. “I’ve just been from recording. I don’t know how long we were at it, it felt like forever. I was working on the same track, and I just couldn’t get it right. We can’t use anything that I did.”

“Oh.” Louis remains standing rather uselessly at the edge of the small room. 

If this had happened a year ago, Louis wouldn’t hesitate to go sit down next to Harry, and to wrap him up a hug. There’s a part of him that still wants to comfort Harry like that, but the space between them has changed, and a bigger part of him is okay with that. So Louis remains standing, a hand outstretched as though to reach Harry through the empty space. One corner of Harry’s mouth turns up in a wry, crooked smile like he understands. Louis lets his hand fall back to his side.

“Maybe it’s a stupid thing to be upset about.” Harry rolls his eyes at himself.

“It’s not stupid,” Louis assures. “You had a bad day. It happens. And don’t be so sure that none of what you did is salvageable. You’re probably making it out to be worse than it really is. You have a fucking great voice, Harry. Don’t forget that.”

Harry doesn’t smile at this compliment. He looks down at his hands. “I’m not exaggerating, it was bad today. We’re trying to get this next album out, and I can’t just be wasting time like that. And maybe it wasn’t one bad day. What if it’s a bad week? Or more? We have a show tomorrow, and the day after that. I can’t be off.”

“Harry,” Louis tries to cut in. Harry rarely has bad moods, but when he does, he tends to unravel completely. It’s best to put a stop to this now.

“No,” Harry plows on. He rubs at his eyes with both hands, and he looks impossibly young. “It’s just so stressful, wondering if your voice really is good enough. It definitely wasn’t good enough today. I’d forgotten how awful that feels, that black hole, and now I’m stuck in it. Do you have any idea what that’s like?” 

Louis is walking backwards before he realizes he’s doing it. 

Harry freezes for a second, and then drops his hands from his face. “Oh, shit,” he whispers.

“No.” Louis holds up a hand. “It’s fine. It’s just, you should really talk to Liam about this kind of thing. He’d be better with this.”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Louis, wait!”

Louis shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be here.” He almost trips over his own feet as he exits the room. “Talk to Liam!” He calls over his shoulder, and then he runs back to the hotel lobby and out the door.

Louis knows now why everyone at the label has lost patience with him. Harry can do whatever he likes because, at the end of the day, he’s Harry Styles, and he’ll always have that voice, even if he himself is having a moment of doubt. Louis will never be like that, will never have that. Louis is a liability, and hardly even worth the risk.

Louis can’t blame anyone at the label, he would be angry with himself, too. He _is_ angry with himself. He boards the bus again, and can feel his hands shaking as he grips onto the railing. It’s not the movement of an adrenaline rush, it’s his body actually shaking apart. Voices drift down the aisle of the bus toward him, and he clenches his jaw, trying to hold himself together.

Zayn and Niall are chatting at the back of the bus, and they both smile at the sight of Louis. 

“There you are,” Zayn cries. “Didn’t know where you’d run off to. Thought maybe you’d ditched us for good.”

Louis gives a shake of his head in answer, and Zayn gets the message. He raises an inquiring eyebrow, but Louis shakes his head again. He’s not going to talk about it right now.

Niall looks him up and down, and then inclines his head toward the kitchen. “Come on,” he says, and Louis follows.

There’s a brown paper bag sitting on the little kitchen table, which Niall digs into immediately.

“The food situation at this hotel is a complete shambles,” Niall declares, as he roots around in the bag. “The restaurant menu was a bore. I had to ransack my minibar and Harry’s, too.

Louis closes his eyes, willing himself not to think about Niall and Harry spending the whole day together, golfing and going between each other’s hotel rooms. He’s not very successful. When he opens his eyes again, Niall is opening what looks like a container of yogurt, and eating it himself. 

“You weren’t answering your phone today, _Neil_ ,” Louis says with his best sneer. “I thought maybe you were dead.”

Niall rolls his eyes and grins at him. “Always a flair for the dramatic.” 

Louis heaves a sigh, as though it’s very exhausting being dramatic, which it is. But he’s realizing that it’s more exhausting being hung up on Niall’s whereabouts. He’ll keep that one to himself.

Niall is doing that thing again where he’s looking Louis up and down, considering. Then he scoops a helping of yogurt out of the container and passes the spoon to Louis. “Here,” is all he says.

Louis takes the offered spoon, though Niall is still holding onto it as well, and he tries a bite. 

“What the hell kind of yogurt is that?” Louis exclaims, swallowing the unexpectedly tangy flavor.

Niall holds the container up at eye level. “According to the label, it’s something called key lime pie.”

“Whatever key lime pie is, it’s bloody strange as a yogurt flavor.”

“Yeah, weird, isn’t it? I kind of like it.”

They stand in silence for a moment as Niall continues eating. “Alright,” Louis gives in. “Let me try another bite.”

This time, Niall’s grin is a slice of pure unfiltered light as he hands over the spoon again. “See? It’s so weird, you can’t stop.”

“Niall,” Louis begins a little bit later, as they’re sat at the table, splitting a packet of m&ms between them. “What do you reckon is the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

“That’s a loaded question.” Niall pulls his hands away from the m&ms, and he appears to really think about it. “Auditioning for The X-Factor,” he says after a moment. Louis huffs out a laugh, but Niall doesn’t follow suit. “That was mad. What could I have been thinking?”

Louis runs a hand along his jaw, the scratchy stubble forming there reminding him that he should shave before Eleanor arrives in a couple of days. “Same,” he admits. “It’s the exact same for me.”

Louis and Niall look at each other across the table. Niall’s eyes aren’t burning at full brightness today. Instead, it’s a steady glow, and Louis detects an underlying glint of steel. Louis has a brief moment of clarity where he thinks that Niall’s recent hard-lined edge must come from a type of awareness. Niall can look Louis up and down, and know something without commenting on it. But he doesn’t know why that knowledge would turn Niall into something so solid, so hard to crack. 

Before he can think about it any further, the sound of Tupac and Dr. Dre singing about their love for Californ-i-a comes blasting down the aisle and into the kitchen. “DJ Malik in the house!” Zayn calls from the lounge. Louis and Niall burst out laughing, but they also hurry back into the lounge, not wanting to miss an opportunity to request tracks from the DJ.

+

Eleanor is sitting on one side of the hotel bed. That’s right, a luxurious, king-sized hotel bed. The room is under her name, and Louis has been granted access to the hotel as her guest. Never mind that, technically, he is the one who will end up paying for this, so he can’t really be a guest. But that’s not important. The money is never important. All that matters is that he’s alone in a beautiful room with Eleanor. She’s wearing a pair of panties and one of his t-shirts, and talking to him about her coursework, about her life.

“I’m so glad we’re reading novels and memoirs for this history course instead of just textbooks,” she’s saying. “It helps with context, and gives a much fuller picture, I think.” 

“I can’t believe you’ve made a head start on your reading for the term. You’re aware it’s only August, right?”

She shrugs, and waves the book she’s holding in her hand at him. “It makes sense, I have a lot of time to read while I travel. And Simone de Beauvoir is excellent company.”

“I have some competition for your affections, I see.”

“You definitely do,” Eleanor grins at him, hugging the book to her chest. “The title of her autobiography is so interesting: _Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter_. It’s so evocative. What does it mean to be a dutiful daughter? Is she being sarcastic? What does it mean to be a dutiful daughter of France? It’s so important, I mean, especially in light of the fact that French women didn’t even have the right to vote until after the Second World War. That’s the sort of environment she grew up in.”

Louis sits at the edge of the bed and watches Eleanor, not daring to touch her and disturb her thoughts. He isn’t part of her world at uni but sometimes she pulls back the curtain, lets him glimpse what it’s like, and share in it. Louis doesn’t want to disturb this world, he wants to drink it in.

Eleanor has told him about Scheherazade, and he’s heard of _One Thousand and One Nights_ , of course. Louis understands that the overarching point is about the power of storytelling. He understands how some people might identify with that, understands that some people need narration in their lives in order to function. Scheherazade is smart enough to use storytelling as a weapon to save her own life, and Eleanor must see a reflection of herself in there somewhere. She must see it in the tenacity it takes to keep speaking, and in the discretion of knowing when to finally stop, and withhold. 

But Louis wonders about the other side of the equation, too, for telling stories always involves two sides. Louis dearly loves to talk and to spin a good story. He doesn’t listen as much as he ought to. The reason why is this: because when he sits down like this, giving himself over in listening to Eleanor, he never wants her to stop talking about everything that’s important to her, about this world at university that he’ll never experience, about the things she wants to share with him. It’s painful to find his way back to himself when she stops speaking and looks to him for a response, as she’s doing right now. His life feels narrow and inadequately lived in comparison to the ideas she brings up.

“Oh dear.” Eleanor lets Simone de Beauvoir fall onto the duvet. “You’ve got that glazed-over expression on your face like I’m boring you.”

“Not at all!” Louis finds her hand resting on the duvet and covers it with his own. “You never bore me.”

It’s not exactly the right thing to say. It doesn’t fully explain the way he feels when she speaks to him. The smile she gives him is faltering, like she can tell he’s holding back.

“I didn’t know that,” Louis adds, “about French women and the vote.” 

Eleanor gives him a look like there’s a lot more where that fact came from. He leans over to kiss her, to tell her that he wants to hear it all. But, before he can, there’s an insistent knock on the door. Louis groans and rolls off the bed.

“Be nice.” Eleanor laughs. “It might be a fan again. Don’t scare the poor thing like you did last time, slamming the door in her face.”

“I was surprised! And nearly naked!” Louis tries to defend himself. “At least I’m fully dressed this time.” He looks through the peephole, and sees a familiar face blinking back at him. “Niall Horan,” Louis declares in a silly voice as he throws open the door. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Try this,” Niall says without preamble, as he shoves what appears to be a food item in Louis’ face.

“Er, what is it?” It looks like a granola bar of some sort wrapped in shiny green foil.

“It’s some apple cinnamon thing,” is Niall’s extremely helpful description.

“I definitely taste the cinnamon,” Louis says after taking a bite. “I don’t know, it’s not really my style. It seems like something Harry would like.”

Niall nods. “That’s what I thought. I don’t know what I was thinking, buying a whole box myself.”

“You could give it to him,” Louis says, inwardly cringing at the possible innuendo.

“Later,” Niall shrugs, apparently oblivious. He takes the little green wrapper back from Louis and they stand looking at each other for a moment. It’s funny, Louis had been annoyed at the interruption, and yet, he could stand here grinning at Niall all night.

“I’m being rude,” Louis says, a little sheepishly as he realizes. “Do you wanna come in?”

“You are being rude,” another voice chimes in. Eleanor is beside him. She’s put on a pair of shorts, and is now leaning against the doorframe smiling at Niall. “Hey. Nice hat.”

“Thank you, m’lady,” Niall says in an overly posh voice, and tips his teal and orange Dolphins snapback to her. “I’m happy to support the Dolphins of Miami.”

Eleanor laughs, and the two of them chat for a minute. For once, Louis finds himself struck speechless as he stares between them. Eleanor turns soft as she talks to Niall, almost blurred around the edges, her eyes like brown sugar. Niall is more bright than usual in his Miami teal and orange, but his eyes are as steely as ever. Louis finds that he can’t stop smiling, but there’s also a small voice at the back of his mind that wonders what Niall might be steeling himself against.

“Sorry for intruding on your time together,” Niall apologizes. “But I just wanted to make sure,” he looks to Louis now, “you’re all set for dinner tonight?” 

“Oh!” Louis hadn’t even thought about food. He shoots Eleanor a quick look before saying, “Yeah, I think we’re just planning to order room service.”

Niall nods. “Thought so. But I just wanted to check.”

“Yeah, cheers.” Louis wants to reach out for Niall and touch him, wants to show that he really is grateful, but he pulls himself back. “Will you be alright?”

“Mate,” Niall takes off his snapback and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m always alright.” 

Eleanor laughs, and Niall flashes a grin before starting to walk away. But Louis knows better.

“Niall!” He calls. 

Niall stops in the middle of the hallway and turns around, looking at Louis expectantly. Louis has something on his mind, but he doesn’t know how to articulate it. “Have a good night,” is what he settles on. Niall laughs in response, seemingly all brightness, a chiming, gleaming sound. But Louis detects the sharpness in it, like the tip of a knife catching the light.

When Louis and Eleanor are alone again, Eleanor wanders away, finds her hairbrush, and looks in the mirror as she takes care of her hair. Louis remains alone by the door for a few minutes. He’s working out a way to articulate his thoughts. Teal and orange. Bright colors.

“Eleanor,” he calls. 

“Yeah?” He can see her gaze flick over to him in the mirror.

“I remember you told me to be careful once... I was just wondering what exactly you meant. What should I be careful about?”

“Louis,” she drops the hairbrush for a moment and grins at him. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“When I was hanging up that painting. The one I stole. Come on,” he grimaces. She’s going to make him work for it. “Surely you remember.”

“Ah, the infamous painting theft. Of course.” 

She doesn’t elaborate for a minute. As she brushes through her hair, she seems to go all soft focus again. Louis can’t quite pin her down. He couldn’t touch Niall earlier, for fear of sharp edges. And he can’t touch Eleanor now, she’s too distant for him.

When she speaks, she looks at Louis through the mirror. “When you told me about the painting, you mentioned Niall.” It isn’t a question. She’s letting him know that she remembers. “Niall is nice. And sometimes you find it easy to be careless. That’s all.”

Louis finally moves away from the door and collapses onto the edge of the bed. Eleanor hasn’t moved from the mirror. He wants to touch her, but she still hasn’t turned to face him.

“Tell me more,” Louis begins. “What you were saying earlier, about France. About Simone de Beauvoir. Please tell me more.”

Eleanor finishes with her hair before turning around to face him. She walks over to Louis, standing tall while he remains sitting on the bed. She knows that she’s Scheherazade, and she knows how the legend really works. It isn’t that the sultan allows Scheherazade to live another day to finish telling her story. It’s Scheherazade who allows the sultan to live every night through her words.

Louis wraps his arms around Eleanor’s waist, presses his forehead to her stomach, and holds on as her words carry him away.

+

“That’s the second time in a row I’ve beat you, Payno!” Louis throw his game controller on the floor in celebration while Liam bows his head in defeat.

“Maybe I’ve been letting you win,” Liam grumbles. “Have you ever thought about that?”

“You’re too competitive for that. But you can tell yourself that’s what’s happening if it makes you feel better.”

“Very nice, you’re really helping my dignity.”

“Help your own dignity,” Louis says, throwing a balled up napkin at Liam.

They don’t begin another game right away. Liam looks around the bus for his water bottle, which he’s lost track of, while Louis checks his mobile. Eleanor has gone to visit New York with some friends, with a promise to be back soon. Zayn is off with Harry and Niall this evening. Louis imagines Zayn and Harry are planning their next tattoos while Niall laughs at them. He certainly doesn’t want to imagine anything deeper going on between the three of them, but he has no messages from any of them, so his imagination is left to its own devices.

“By the way,” Liam cuts through the silence. “I talked to Harry the other day. He came to me and we talked. He said it was important for me to tell you that, he said that you would want to know.”

“Ah.” Louis has no idea how much Harry would have told Liam, if he would have recounted how Louis had made a break for it like a fool. But it isn’t really his business, it’s between Harry and Liam. “So, he’s alright, then?” is all Louis ventures to ask.

“Yeah,” Liam smiles. “He’s Harry. You know.”

“Right, so basically he’s insane. But alright.”

Liam grins so hard that his eyes crinkle and disappear. “That sums it up.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Louis says in a small voice. 

Liam’s smile softens so that Louis can see his eyes, and the utter seriousness with which he regards Louis. It’s easy for Louis to spend time with Liam now, but there are moments like this when Liam turns to him with a look of pure earnestness, and Louis has to inhale sharply and sit up straight. It’s just that Liam’s eyes still look the same as when the two of them were first introduced, when Liam looked at Louis without understanding. Liam looked at Louis like he was inessential, and Louis really couldn’t let that slide.

Liam was so talented and so well-behaved all the time, Louis didn’t think Liam was even possible as a person. He pushed and pulled at Liam, trying to draw out a flaw, until Liam realized that he could push back. They both took a deep breath, like they were just learning how to breathe for the first time, and everything settled between them. 

Now Liam looks at Louis like he understands everything, and it’s too overwhelming. Louis throws himself at Liam, tackles him to the floor, and punches him repeatedly in the chest. But because Liam has learned to push back, he rolls them over and has Louis spread out on his back. Liam is the only who is strong enough to do that, to have Louis on the ground beneath him, unable to move. Maybe it’s the reason the two of them fought in the beginning, because they knew they could do this to each other.

Liam doesn’t punch Louis. Instead, he’s laughing, and it’s so normal for the two of them. Louis blinks up at Liam, and there’s a moment in between opening and closing his eyes where he has a flash of something else. 

What if, instead of looking up at Liam’s brown eyes, Louis were faced with a pair of blue eyes? What if, instead of Liam’s gentle laugh echoing around the bus, it was a sharp-edged laugh that only Louis is attuned to?

Louis realizes with a flash that sears through his entire body that he would quite like it if Niall were the one straddling him right now, holding him down, and looking at him with intent. 

He tries to sit up before realizing that he can’t. Louis closes his eyes and bangs his head against the floor.

“Louis!” Liam cries in alarm. Louis feels Liam’s weight shifting, and then an arm curling underneath his back, helping him to sit up. “Louis, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Louis mutters in a voice that’s unconvincing even to him, and rubs the bruised spot at back of his head.

Liam smiles at Louis with an even more soft and gentle smile than before, because he’s quite horrible, really. This whole understanding thing between himself and Liam is really backfiring, Louis thinks.

He groans. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just, do you think you can be in love with more than one person at the same time?”

“Well,” Liam thinks. “I love my mum. And I love you lads. And I love Leona Lewis. I love her quite a lot.”

“No, Liam, I mean genuinely in love.” Liam’s eyebrows indicate that he’s a little bit lost. “I mean, I’m committed to Eleanor,” Louis tries to explain to him and to himself. “I can’t even imagine not being with her. But,” Louis gives a little laugh because he doesn’t know what else to do. “It’s weird, but I feel committed in a way to this other person, too. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.”

Liam shakes his head. “That’s never happened to me before either. When I’m in love with someone, that’s kind of it for me. It’s a one person kind of deal.” 

“Yeah, I thought it was like that for me too,” Louis says. “I guess I was wrong.”

“Have you spoken about this with Eleanor?”

“In a way.” Louis remembers bright colors, and a warning. “The really weird thing is, I think she’s okay with it, but she’s concerned that I’ll hurt this other person.”

“I have to ask, does this mysterious other person know what’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.” Louis hunches in on himself. “We don’t really talk about serious things together. We don’t need to.”

Liam smiles wide, like this is all very simple. “Well then, that’s what you have to do. As long as you’re honest with everyone about the situation, no one will get hurt.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Easier said than done.” And then he adds in a lower voice: “It’s scary.”

A little glint appears in Liam’s eye. “Tommo, it’s alright, you can tell me you love me. I won’t mind.”

“You absolute dickhead, shut up!” Louis elbows Liam in the ribs. “I hate you.”

“Say it ain’t so,” Liam fake pouts.

“I’m very much in hatred with you,” Louis insists.

“Good, it’s mutual.” Liam smiles, and picks up his game controller. “Say, best out of five?”

Louis pauses. He locks eyes with Liam and just breathes for a moment. Liam’s eyes are always full of emotional honesty. Maybe Louis could try that, too. Then he throws his shoulders back. “You’ll have to win three in a row.”

“Is that your way of saying you’re in?”

Louis and Liam grin at each other, and then turn to face the tv at the same time, ready for a new challenge.

+

Louis has been sleeping more and more during the day lately, like some kind of strange late summer hibernation. Eleanor goes out shopping for an afternoon and, normally Louis would go with her, wouldn’t waste a second being away from her. But that anesthetic has sunk deep into his skin, and he crashes alone on the bus while she goes out.

When he’s woken by his phone chiming, he expects it to be her. So, he’s confused in his sleep-wrecked state when he finds himself staring at a tweet and a photo from Niall. Louis sits up in his bunk so fast that he hits his head on the bus ceiling. 

He’d put all the lads on twitter text alert ages ago. Sometimes it’s annoying, as Liam and Niall in particular can tweet pretty often. But sometimes it’s useful, like when Niall won’t answer his phone, or like right now, when something important is happening.

Louis remains still, unable to stop staring at the photo. Niall looks so bloody happy, the traitor. And then there’s the impeccable-looking man next to him, recognizable anywhere, even to non-football fans. Louis runs a hand through his hair and over his face. He’s got sweaty, tousled hair and pillow creases across his cheeks because he’d been dead to the world. He had allowed himself to fall into that numb state of being, and the consequences of that are staring him in the face.

Louis jumps off his bunk and it hurts when his feet hit the ground, but he doesn’t mind. His lips curl back, baring his teeth in a dangerous smile. He exits the bus, a storm on the move.

Inside the venue, all four of his bandmates are hanging around together backstage. Niall and Liam are on a sofa, while Harry and Zayn are looking through racks of clothing. Liam notices Louis first, and a hush falls over the room. Louis turns up the voltage of his faux smile. The bastards know they’re guilty.

“Hey, Louis,” Zayn speaks first, testing the waters.

“Zayn,” Louis nods, speaking in an overly cheery tone of voice. “Lads. Having a nice afternoon?”

“Er-” Harry starts to answer, his face all scrunched up. Liam’s eyebrows have drawn together in one line, and Zayn’s hand is over his mouth, watching Louis. Niall’s face, however, is blank except for his eyes, glinting out like two steeled-over stars. He’s not afraid of Louis.

It’s to Niall, then, that Louis addresses himself as he keeps speaking. “I was having a great afternoon myself. I was taking quite a peaceful nap when I was unexpectedly woken up.” Louis brandishes his iPhone like a sword, and Niall must feel it because he stands up from the sofa. “But I woke up too late, it seems. I missed all the fun.”

“Louis,” Liam begins in a gently apologetic voice.

“Where is he?” Louis demands, daggers in his tone as the smile melts away from his face. 

“He’s gone, Louis,” Niall speaks up for the first time. “Busy man, David Beckham.”

“I imagine so! You know what? I’m a busy man, too. Sometimes I need to sleep during the day to catch up because I’m exhausted from being on the move all the goddamned time.” 

“Louis,” Zayn cautions. “We’re all exhausted. And I missed him, too.”

“Oh, _you_ missed Beckham?” Louis mocks. “You must be crushed, considering he was your childhood hero and everything.”

“Louis!” Niall’s voice slices through the room. His cheeks are flushed now, like he’s starting to come to life. “Don’t go after him.”

Niall is right. Louis doesn’t want to fight with Zayn. “Fine. I’m here for you, anyway,” he says, pointing at Niall’s chest. “You had enough time to take a picture with Beckham, and tweet it out to all the world. But you couldn’t spare one minute to run back to the bus and wake me up? No, of course not, that would’ve been too easy.”

“Zayn said you were sound asleep,” Niall tries to reason. “And we didn’t want to wake you. We didn’t want to upset you.”

“Well, the universe works in funny ways, doesn’t it?” Louis gives a booming, mirthless laugh. “Because your tweet woke me up, anyway. So now I’m awake, I’m upset, and I didn’t even meet David Beckham, no thanks to you lot of fucking useless twats.”

“Louis,” Liam is standing now, too, and using his best stern dad voice. “There’s no need to yell, especially not at Zayn or Niall.”

“Thank you for your input, Liam,” Louis says in a falsely sweet voice. “But I’ll be the judge of that. Besides, I think this is Niall’s fault, actually.”

Niall seems to flicker for a second, like maybe he could disappear from this moment, go somewhere else. It infuriates Louis even more because he’s stuck, and digging his heels in further, unable to stop burying himself in his own anger. 

Niall squares his shoulders and moves so that he’s standing directly opposite Louis. “I’m sorry that you’re pissed off, but I don’t know why you’re hellbent on blaming me specifically, like I plotted this against you.”

Louis waves his hand dismissively because he certainly isn’t going to explain the root of his fixation on Niall, not now. Why did he ever think he could be honest? It’s not his style. “I don’t give a shit what you plan or don’t plan, Niall, what you do or don’t do.”

“Really?” Niall cries, finally looking as fully animated as Louis feels. Louis takes it as a victory, wants Niall to feel his skin crawling with the same emotion that’s shaking Louis apart. “I find that hard to believe. From everything you’ve said just now, it sounds like you care a hell of a lot, Louis.”

“I don’t.” Louis doesn’t raise his voice. He knows how to sound like a clap of thunder even while speaking in a whisper. “Fuck you, Niall. I don’t need you.”

Louis has never witnessed an eclipse before. It’s true what they say, it is blinding. It’s the burst of light that occurs just before the plunge into strange darkness that does it. Niall doesn’t say anything in response, but he seems to erupt with light before blowing out, his anger dissipating into a silent kind of hurt. 

Louis blinks his eyes, and Niall is walking away, his back toward Louis. Zayn stands in between the two of them, throwing one deadly glare Louis’ way before going after Niall. Harry lets out a low whistle, and then follows them out. Liam stays the longest, but Louis refuses to move, refuses to speak or to apologize, so eventually Liam walks away, too.

Louis covers his eyes with his hands. He doesn’t know how a storm dies down, but it’s usually not graceful. Storms seem to wear themselves out, the torrents of wind and rain pitifully blowing over to let the sun shine again, but Louis doesn’t know if it’s even possible for the sun to return here. He feels his head throbbing with pain right between his eyes, like he’s been struck with an arrow. Louis knows that pain is part of coming back to life. But this blindness is part of what it feels like to break every promise ever made to other people and to himself.

+

Louis and Niall are professionals. They don’t ignore each other, or sulk and avoid each other on stage. They couldn’t avoid each other if they tried, Louis knows it. This is their show, and they’re both still responsible for it. So, Niall turns to Louis just like always, and asks how Louis is finding the show. Except this time, Niall isn’t smiling. He’s still dimmed, his light extinguished. The sight—and the knowledge that it’s his own fault—sends a fatal chill through Louis that’s far more deadening than any anesthetic. 

Louis texts Eleanor immediately after the show that night, telling her to order champagne to the room, and to make it a good bottle. He needs a rush of something to bring him back to life, and it may as well be champagne. He stays at the venue longer than usual after the show to shower, and takes a car to the hotel with Paul and Liam.

When he gets to the room, Eleanor stands facing him, holding out a glass of Moët & Chandon. It’s no Cristal, and they both know it. Eleanor knows instinctively that something is wrong, and she knows explicitly because nothing is a secret, and because Louis had been miserable all throughout the show, she would have noticed.

The two of them clink champagne flutes in a bizarre, joyless toast, and the noise of glass-on-glass sounds jarring in the silent room. Louis drinks deeply. He’s after that specific champagne dryness, so bitter it gives you a headache. Louis already has a headache, it may as well be from drinking champagne.

“I hate Moët,” he declares, setting his already-empty glass down on the dresser. “It isn’t dry enough.”

“Eleanor considers her glass, still nearly full. “It’s almost sweet.”

“Sweet champagne is bullshit!” Louis growls, like he’s an authority on the matter. “It may as well be Sprite.”

Eleanor sets her glass down as well, and walks over to him. She isn’t speaking much, and it’s making Louis anxious. She settles her hands on his hips, as though to calm him. Then she tucks her fingers into the waistband of his trousers, teasingly giving a little snap. 

“What do you wanna do?” She asks, looking him in the eye.

Louis tips forward into her, his head falling into the crook of her neck. He can smell her perfume, and the way the overt floral scent had burned off throughout the day so that now it’s something else entirely, it’s traces of warm patchouli and oud. It’s deeply inviting, but not what he wants just now.

“I want you to talk to me,” he says into her skin. “Please talk to me.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, as Eleanor pulls her hands and then her whole body back.

“I think it’s your turn to do the talking, Louis.” 

She doesn’t look upset, and her tone is gentle, but Louis detects the undercurrent of steel to her words. He has to sit down on the bed, feeling winded.

Steel is not a naturally occurring resource, it can only be forged out of other materials. The shining new metal emerges from the burning, sooty mess of melted iron, and it represents something unbreakable in its rawness. The creation of something totally new like that is certainly attractive, and Louis realizes now there’s something in the material of steel itself that is essential to him. What is steel if not a foundation on which to build something long-lasting? Louis needs that foundation, needs the hard-edged determination it brings out in Eleanor and unexpected seriousness it carves out in Niall. 

“I wasn’t careless,” Louis says, because Eleanor asked him to speak. He looks up at her. She’s got one arm reaching back for her champagne glass, but her eyes are on him. “I was reckless. I was angry, and I was reckless on purpose. I knew what I was doing.”

Eleanor sips her champagne, then walks over to the bed. She sits down next to him and places her free hand on his cheek. “Then you also know how gentle you’ll have to be when you rebuild what’s been broken.”

+

There’s a knock on the hotel room door the next day around noon. Louis lets Eleanor answer it, it’s her room, after all. He hears low voices chatting from where he’s lying on the bed, and then Zayn comes shuffling into view. 

Eleanor peeks her head around the corner of the entryway to give Louis a small encouraging smile. “I’ll be back in a bit,” she excuses herself. Louis hears the click of the room door and knows they’re alone.

Louis sits up in bed. He hasn’t showered yet today, and he figures his hair is probably a disaster, but it’s nothing Zayn hasn’t seen before. Zayn’s seen it all, as usually, the two of them wake up together in the mornings (or afternoons, to be more accurate). Louis feels a gaping kind of ache in his chest at the thought that that hasn’t happened for awhile now, and might not happen again if he doesn’t stop fucking things up. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, locking eyes with Zayn, hoping Zayn will understand.

Zayn half rolls his eyes and half laughs. “For what?”

“I yelled at you specifically when you weren’t even doing anything. That was a bit shit of me. And then I acted like a fairly enormous brat in general. I’m sorry for all of that.”

Zayn sits down at the end of the bed, facing Louis. “Look, bro, I don’t care that you yelled at me, I’m not angry with you for that. Shit happens, but things between us?” Zayn gestures between the two of them. “They’re all good.” Louis bows his head. He doesn’t deserve Zayn.

“But,” Zayn continues, and Louis should have known there was a “but” coming next. “I’m not sure a simple “I’m sorry” is going to be enough for certain other people.”

“I know,” Louis murmurs.

“Do you?” Zayn asks, his eyes gone all serious, like when he’s concentrating on a book. “You made us swear not to take shit out on each other, and then you went and took it all out on Niall. It’s not just uncool, bro, it’s unacceptable.” 

“I know.” Louis says it again, this time through clenched teeth.

But Zayn is shaking his head. “The problem is, I’m not sure you do. You still don’t see. You could try being more observant sometimes, you know that.”

“Look, Zayn, you said we’re cool, and I’m grateful for that. But it sounds like you’re blaming me for something else now, and I can’t tell what it is without you being straightforward.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Zayn insists. “Maybe this is me trying to stop you.”

“Oh my god.” Louis rubs at his eyes. “It’s like you think you’re some kind of cryptic sphinx. Will you just tell me what’s bothering you like a normal person?”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” Zayn says, and Louis casts around for something to throw at his head. Before he can find anything good, Zayn stands up and lets out a long breath. “What are you doing tonight for dinner?”

“Fuck, I haven’t even had breakfast yet. How am I supposed to know?” 

“Exactly,” Zayn says, and turns on his heel. 

Louis clutches at his temples. This conversation has taken a bizarre turn. “Are you seriously storming out?” He calls. “Where are you going?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, I’m not storming anywhere. Only you do that. And where do you think I’m going?”

“Shit.” Zayn must feel it’s rather overcast in here, and, anyway, he’s trying to restore a sunnier climate elsewhere. “Tell him… Please tell him…”

“No.” Zayn is firm. “Tell him yourself.”

Louis remains motionless on the bed. Zayn gives a little nod like _that’s what I thought_ , and lets the door shut behind him.

Louis stumbles around the room, looking for a clean pair of boxers and hoping Eleanor comes back soon. There’s still some champagne left over in the bottle from last night, although it’s more flat than effervescent, the bubbles having long ago died down. Louis takes the bottle in hand and downs the rest of it. The champagne turns bubbly again at the sudden rushing movement of the bottle. The drink foams in his mouth, tasting both flat and fizzy, stale and sweet at the same time. 

Louis swallows it down on his empty stomach. His mind is already reeling from his conversation with Zayn, the rest of his body might as well feel just as confused. Besides, it would be a terrible shame to let champagne go to waste.

+

Louis has some time to kill before the next show, so he hops on the bus to check the stock of breakfast cereal. If there aren’t any Cocoa Puffs, he’ll have to go grocery shopping later. He hasn’t spent as much time on the bus the past couple of weeks since Eleanor has been around, and the bus has started to feel less like home already. There’s barely any cereal left, and he opens the mini fridge to see that there’s no milk either. Louis starts to wonder vaguely how he had managed to live and eat at all on this bus for over a month. 

Louis doesn’t normally think of himself as an oblivious person, but realization crashes over him, heavy like a flood, and he collapses against the counter. 

A meal is something to be shared, and Zayn had noticed but Louis hadn’t until right this second, that Niall had always brought food for Louis, as well as food for himself. Niall shared his time with Louis, and his meals. It felt like the easiest thing in the world, so it was the easiest thing to take for granted.

It’s also easy for Louis to take for granted the idea of ordering in room service with Eleanor, which leaves Niall on the other side of the hotel room’s threshold, alone. Louis can begin to see why a ringing laugh might take on razor-sharp edges, why it might be used simultaneously as a weapon and as a form of self-preservation. 

Back inside the venue, Louis runs around trying to wrangle information about Niall’s whereabouts out of everyone else.

“I have no idea where Niall is. Probably messing around on his segway,” is Harry’s supremely unhelpful answer.

“How can you not know where Niall is, now of all times!” Louis explodes. “Useless!”

Harry shakes his head. “You call me useless so often, it doesn’t mean anything anymore.”

Louis doesn’t have the time for this. He finds Liam and Zayn hanging around with the musicians, but Niall is conspicuously absent.

“Do you know what,” Liam appears to think, as he continues eating Doritos out of the bag, “I don’t think I have seen Niall around eating. That’s unusual, isn’t it? He always eats before the show. And after, as well.”

“So, he hasn’t eaten dinner yet?” Louis tries to confirm, beyond desperate now.

Liam shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Zayn, who has been lounging in the corner of the room, perks up at this, and Louis stops rushing for a second to give him a nod. _I see now_. Zayn nods back.

Louis runs to the catering station, loads up a plate with penne pasta, grabs silverware and a napkin, and tries not to feel like too much of a twat wandering the venue with a plate of food. It doesn’t surprise Louis that Niall is difficult to find. He can disappear, after all, in ways that Louis never can, and he’s probably chosen to go someplace where he can recharge. 

Blonde hair and the glint of blue eyes stop Louis in his tracks in front of two glass doors leading into the business offices of the venue. Louis wonders if it’s just a reflection or a trick of the light, but it really is Niall. He’s not disappearing anywhere, rather he’s sitting firmly on a sofa in what appears to be the lobby. 

Framed photographs of famous basketball players, current and past, line the walls, and a glass trophy display case takes point of pride in the center of the room. The lights are dimmed, as the work day is over, and Louis can see why Niall would come here to be alone, seeking out the half light.

Louis makes his way around the empty front desk and the trophy case to face Niall. The look he gives Louis is rather more iced-over than full of light or steel. Louis can’t blame him. He takes a deep breath and plunges into the chilly atmosphere. 

“Do you mind if I join you?”

“Depends. What have you got there?” Niall answers, motioning to the plate.

“It’s pasta. It’s for you.” Niall raises an eyebrow. “Liam said he didn’t think you’d eaten dinner yet,” Louis tries to explain why he’s brought this in a way that makes sense.

“It’s true,” Niall admits. “I was wandering around, and forgot to eat. That kind of thing doesn’t usually happen to me.”

“Well,” Louis sets the plate down on the little coffee table in front of the sofa. He spreads out the napkin and lays the silverware down on top. “There you go. You should eat up.”

The corner of Niall’s mouth almost perks up in a smile, but then he digs in to the meal. After a moment he looks up at Louis.

“Are you just going to stand there staring at me like some kind of daft cow?”

Louis can’t help smiling at this. “I might do, yes.”

“Sit down, for fuck’s sake.” Niall motions to one of the leather chairs arranged on the other side of the coffee table. Louis does what Niall says, grateful Niall is letting him sit and share time with him again, even if they aren’t sharing a meal this time.

“All this summer,” Louis begins. “You made sure that I was eating, and I kind of just let you do that without thanking you.”

Niall gives a shrug. “It wasn’t a problem,” he says through a mouthful of penne.

“But it is, because ever since Eleanor came to stay, I’ve been eating with her. And that means that you and I lost that time together.” Niall looks up at Louis. That metallic edge is back, his face setting into steel, and Louis knows now what Niall has been bracing himself against. “I should have let you know how much I appreciated you taking care of me. And I shouldn’t have let us lose that time together.”

Niall sets his fork down and looks at Louis for a long moment. “I’m sorry that I didn’t come to get you when Becks was here.” Louis waves his hand dismissively. “No,” Niall insists. “I knew how much it meant to you, and I didn’t do it. I had a moment of selfishness.”

“You’re allowed to be selfish once in awhile. The thing is, Niall, I really just want to spend time with you. Whether or not my girlfriend, or David Beckham, or anyone else is around. I like being with you. And I fucked up any chance of hanging out with you when I told you that I didn’t need you. I’m sorry.”

Niall gives him a sharp nod. Louis is glad that he doesn’t say “it’s alright” because it wasn’t, and it still isn’t. But now they can both move forward.

They sit in silence for a few minutes while Niall continues eating. “Hey,” Niall breaks the quiet. “Are you still into taking things?”

“No, not for awhile now. It was never really about stealing, anyway. Why?” Louis narrows his eyes. “What did you have in mind?” 

“It’s just that there’s a pretty sick trophy case right over there.” Niall points with his knife, and makes a slicing motion.

“Niall James Horan,” Louis pronounces, truly in awe. The use of his full name elicits a grin from Niall. It isn’t a full smile, it isn’t a laugh, but it’s a start. 

“I wouldn’t have the first idea of how to break into a case like that, if I’m being honest,” Niall muses.

“We’d be rubbish burglars.”

“We _are_ rubbish burglars,” Niall corrects.

“I paid the hotel for that painting,” Louis confesses. “I don’t know if you remember it, but I did end up paying the hotel back. So, technically, it isn’t stolen anymore. It’s just an average painting. Zayn said the art was bad, anyway.”

Niall leans forward in his seat, as though he’s drawn to Louis. “Why do you do it?” he asks. “If it’s not about taking things, what is it about?”

Louis can only stare for a moment. Because shouldn’t Niall know by now? No, Louis reflects, probably not. He’s terrible at being honest with people. “It’s about sharing a piece of an experience. It’s about walking away with a memento. I know that just sounds like an excuse for stealing, but I think it’s important, you know? Walking away from an experience with something tangible that you can actually hold.”

Niall nods like he understands. Louis blinks. He can’t be certain, but he thinks it looks as though the ice in Niall’s expression has thawed. It may be dim, but it looks to Louis like there’s a glimmer of light now emanating from Niall.

“I remember that painting,” Niall says, after a moment. “I wouldn’t call it average, or bad, even. Actually, I’d say it was memorable. I don’t know exactly why, but it made an impression on me.”

“Yes,” Louis whispers. “I felt the same way.”

“Here,” Niall pushes the plate of pasta across the table. “Have the rest. You need to eat before the show, too.”

Louis is careful this time, as he picks up the fork, to note that Niall is letting him share a meal again. More importantly, they’re sharing the same space, and both slowly but surely coming back to life together.

+

Niall flies straight back to the UK at the end of the North American tour, while Louis and Eleanor stay in California for a few more days. Niall doesn’t do anything by halves. He’s forgiven Louis wholeheartedly, and even wraps Louis in a hug before leaving for the airport. The hug is all-enveloping, but it isn’t enough because Louis knows now that he wants more.

Some days, Louis and Eleanor go out together: shopping, holding hands, sharing an iced latte between them. Other days they stay in the whole day, kissing up and down each other’s bodies, and breathing each other in. At night, Eleanor speaks to Louis, her words weaving pictures in his mind as he listens.

But during the day, in the California sunlight, Louis is restless. Naturally, Eleanor notices. She takes him by the hand one afternoon as they sit down to lunch. They sit next to each other rather than across the table from each other, and her grip is firm. 

“When we get home, you’ll have to sort this out,” she instructs. “You’ll have to talk to Niall.”

Louis squeezes his eyes shut and heaves a sigh. “I apologized to him.”

“That’s a start,” she says, gently. “Now you have to build from there.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Louis admits, looking to her for help.

Eleanor shakes her head. “I can’t tell you that.” Her brown eyes are wide, and she looks almost sad that she can’t help him. “You’ll figure it out. You’ll know as you go along what’s right for the two of you.”

Louis gives her hand a squeeze where they’re still holding hands under the table. He’s been holding back from Niall, and he realizes now that he’s been holding back from Eleanor, too. And that’s unfair to her, because he’s been on tour all these months now. She’s fought with him, and talked to him, and made him talk. And through it all, she’s still here, sitting next to him. He leans forward, pressing their foreheads together.

“You know that I’m one hundred percent committed to you, don’t you, Eleanor? I’m committed to everything you do, everything you tell me. I’m committed to the courses you’re taking at uni, and the books you’re reading. I’m committed to whatever you’re going to order for lunch right now.”

“Louis,” she huffs out a little laugh that she turns into a quick kiss. “Do you really think I’d fly all the way out here and spend time with you if I didn’t think you were serious?” 

“Oh, I see how it is!”

“I wouldn’t talk to you the way I do if I didn’t know that you’re serious,” Eleanor whispers. “It’s my way of being serious with you.”

“I know,” Louis whispers back.

Eleanor kisses him again, and this time it’s deeper, an affirmation of everything they’ve just said, and everything they mean to each other.

+

Louis talks a lot, and Niall does, too. But it’s difficult to figure out what to say to each other. It’s difficult when they don’t really have a break from their jobs, when they have press to do for their film, and interviewers are constantly swarming around. 

Niall brings up David Beckham on the actual red carpet of their film premiere, and Louis walks away from the interview. He means it, the storming off part. But when he comes back, he gives Niall a hug, clinging onto his narrow hips. He means that, too, in a dreadfully desperate way, but Niall couldn’t know that. Louis doesn’t know yet how to put it into words.

A couple weeks later, Harry actually rings Louis instead of the usual text messaging, and Louis answers with a wary: “Everything alright?” 

“Well, hello to you, too. Yeah, everything’s all good. Listen, I’m calling because I’m not sure if you know, but Niall is heading over to Australia early.”

“No,” Louis says, trying to keep his voice neutral. “I didn’t know.”

“Right, I didn’t think he’d said anything to you. He wants to spend time with some relatives, apparently. He’s going to celebrate his birthday with them. At least that’s what he told me. I just thought you should be aware…” Harry trails off.

“Oh.” Louis has no idea how to respond. “Sure. Okay.”

“See, I’m being useful for once and you don’t even know how to handle it.”

“Please shut up,” Louis groans, holding his phone away from his ear as he hears Harry cackling.

He brings the phone back just in time to hear Harry assuring: “It will be alright, Louis. You and Niall... It will be alright.”

“We’ll see,” Louis says in a terse voice, and rings off. 

Louis supposes that it’s nice of Harry to be supportive, and to show that he has an inkling of what might be going on between Louis and Niall. But as for things working out, that really depends on Louis speaking up, and that’s the truly scary part.

+

The flight to Australia is difficult for the obvious reasons: it’s long as fuck and uncomfortable. But Louis is done lying to himself. The real reason it’s difficult is because it’s leading up to seeing Niall again for the first time in a few weeks. Even though it’s probably self-centered of him, Louis feels this Australian getaway has been too well-timed as a break from himself to be a complete coincidence. 

It’s a shame he hasn’t spoken to Niall yet, because he could have assured Niall that he doesn’t need to work so hard to get away from Louis. Niall is slight, and lithe, and full of light. He can fit places Louis can’t, can see places Louis will never be able to. 

That’s the other problem: Eleanor is at uni, and Louis is alone. She isn’t around to guide him and make sense of the world through her words. Louis has Zayn next to him on the flight, but he’s sleeping, restful as always.

Stepping on the ground in Australia, Louis knows he can’t do this yet. He isn’t ready. He turns to Zayn, grabbing his shoulder. “Hey, I’m going to Fiji. Do you wanna come along?”

Zayn blinks at him through bleary eyes. “Bro, I’ve just stepped off the plane in Australia. I’m not getting on another plane to Fiji right now.”

“Suit yourself,” Louis says, and runs off to sort everything with Paul. 

A worried crease forms down the center of Paul’s forehead, but he doesn’t try to stop Louis. He makes the travel arrangements, and sends Louis off with his own security detail, and an affectionate squeeze on the shoulder.

Louis is allowed a hotel room in Fiji, because this is his trip, and everything is on his own terms. He’s earned this. He even has his own terrace that opens out onto the resort’s private beach. The sun burns even hotter in Fiji than in Australia, and Louis leans against his terrace railing, trying to stare into the sun without blinking. The sun wins, of course, and he has to close his eyes. During the second that his eyes are closed, Louis thinks he hears a chiming laugh. When he opens his eyes again, he thinks he sees something metallic glinting out from the streams of sunlight.

Louis turns around in a circle, but there’s no one near him. Everything is quiet except for the distant waves rolling in. No one is talking, there isn’t even the wisp of laughter. Louis lets out a shaky breath. It was too much to hope for that Niall would know to look for him here, that Niall would want to seek him out.

+

Louis can feel himself coming down with a cold on the flight back to Australia. It doesn’t help that he has to go immediately from the airport to a show, barely even having the time to greet everyone who’s come back for this leg of the tour before rushing onstage. 

The first time he speaks to Niall for several weeks is out onstage in front of thousands of people. Niall gives him a little smile, not a full one, but the sight is invigorating enough to slice through Louis’ sinus headache and propel him through the show.

“All that traveling is catching up to you,” Liam scolds fondly after the show as he hands Louis a box of tissues.

It isn’t exactly the traveling, per se, Louis knows. It’s the result of his body rebelling against the immovable force that is the itinerary.

“Thank you,” is all Louis says to Liam, lifting up the tissues, because it’s impossible to explain such a thing. Louis turns away, and comes face to face with Niall for the first time backstage.

“Hi,” Louis says, stupidly.

“Hiya,” Niall answers. He leans forward into Louis, and then sways back again, as though just realizing what he’d done. He blinks, and something passes over his face, that metal armor. 

Louis wants to tell Niall that it’s okay, that he doesn’t need to be afraid, that the two of them can build something together. Louis looks into Niall’s eyes now. He can see that Niall’s lit-from-within glow is back, and it’s like seeing him for the first time all over again. In that moment Louis finally acknowledges to himself his own need for the sunlight that burns in Niall’s eyes, and his craving for the taste of cold, metallic steel in his own mouth like blood. And then Louis is the one who has to take a step backward, because he hadn’t realized the intensity of his own need.

Luckily Zayn is there to grab onto Louis’ arm and support him. Liam and Harry are standing on either side of Niall, looking like they’re ready to grab onto him at any moment. Zayn looks over’s Louis’ head to nod at the two of them. 

“We’re going to the bus,” he says, and steers Louis away.

“We should get on the second bus,” Louis hears Harry say to Liam, as they walk away.

Louis doesn’t say anything more out loud, and neither does Niall. Louis doesn’t like it, the stilted silence between them, and having to be lead away from Niall. But Zayn plays confidante to Niall as well as to Louis. He must know something about Niall that Louis can’t see, just as Niall can’t see the two of them now: Zayn settling Louis down on the sofa before going to fix him a cup of tea. 

Louis bundles himself up on the sofa, trying to protect his sore throat against the blasting air conditioning, and he wonders how Zayn does it. Zayn has the ability to listen to others without losing himself in their words. When he withholds, it’s not because he’s confused or scared, it’s only because he’s deemed it the appropriate thing to do. Louis loves being carried away when Eleanor speaks, or when Niall smiles at him. But losing himself in that way makes it that much more difficult to come back to the present and remember how to speak for himself. 

+

Louis and Zayn rent out a van, just for the two of them, to travel in and live out of while Louis tries to recuperate. The itinerary is slowing down and Louis is hopeful he’ll have a chance to breathe soon. But with Niall on the bus and in hotels with Liam and Harry, the main problem still hasn’t been taken care of. It all seems to be twisted together: bright colors, steel structures, and iron-clad itineraries, and it presses in like a weight on Louis’ sinuses. Zayn throws Louis knowing looks every now and again, but he can’t untangle any of it. Like Eleanor, he refuses to provide the words for this particular story.

Liam helps Louis onstage, shoring up the vocals when Louis’ voice isn’t up to the task. Louis is grateful, but he gets the feeling that Liam would do the same thing for any of the band, professional to the hilt as he is. Guilt from not being able to hold up his end of their five-part agreement chips away at Louis and adds to his headache. He starts bringing tea with him onstage in the hopes that it will soothe his throat, and save Liam from singing two parts.

During one show, just an ordinary show, Louis finishes his solo in one of the songs and turns around, looking for his tea. Niall is right there holding out his mug of tea, as though he could read Louis’ mind. Louis is dumbfounded, and can only stare in disbelief as Niall hands him the tea with a little nod, and then runs off in the other direction to do his part. Louis almost forgets to drink, feeling stupid holding both his microphone and cup of tea in hand onstage. The thing is, it doesn’t feel to Louis like Niall might pay attention to just anyone like that. The gesture was small, but attuned specifically to him. 

That night while falling asleep, Louis notices his breath evening out and coming more easily through his cold.

+

Even if Louis and Niall aren’t spending much downtime together, Louis is at least relieved that their stage relationship seems to have thawed. Niall is back to his typical brightness, casting Louis smiles that are full of unfiltered light, and that unabashed warmth gives Louis enough confidence to reach out and touch Niall now. It’s just enough to appear casual: a hand placed on his back or draped over his shoulder. Louis doesn’t know all of Niall’s secrets, because he isn’t Niall’s confidante, and he doesn’t know how to ask. But when he presses his hand against Niall’s back, just below his neck, Niall gives him one of his quieter smiles, and Louis can read the secret there. Only the two of them really understand that it isn’t casual at all, that it’s terribly intimate.

Oddly enough, one of the most choreographed bits of the show is Louis’ and Niall’s part during Over Again. They’d come up with silly hand gestures to fit the lyrics, and it works better than any actual choreographed dancing. When Niall takes a seat next to Louis one night, still messing with his guitar, everything seems normal, and Louis is ready to launch into the routine. But Niall improvises this time.

He nudges Louis very gently with his elbow, and then hands over his guitar pick. Louis stares at the pick, seemingly too small of an object to be loaded with such meaning, before glancing up at Niall. _For me?_ he mouths, and Niall has to nod yes twice for Louis to understand.

Louis nearly spills his water bottle, and chooses to make a big deal out of that rather than out of the guitar pick, which he tucks away in his pocket. Louis loves to break rules and go rogue, but dealing with spontaneity himself is not his strong suit, especially when it’s tinged with specific meaning. There are few things Niall loves more than playing guitar, and sharing any piece of that can’t be an accident. Louis had taken it for granted when Niall started sharing his meals, he isn’t going to make that same mistake this time. He watches Niall perform throughout the rest of the show, and they catch each other’s eyes a few times, the glow in Niall’s eye brighter than ever. 

Louis has always known, in a theoretical way, that the center of a flame burns blue, but he had never witnessed it up close before. He didn’t realize that the color blue could be so warm. Now it’s all he can see.

After the show, Louis has never been so grateful to be the first one to exit the stage. He looks around for Paul immediately. He’s had an idea. Louis isn’t Niall’s confidante, or his golf buddy, or his best friend. He’s something else, and he’s figured it out.

+

A few days later Paul calls Louis outside his and Zayn’s van, and hands over a small package wrapped up in silver wrapping paper.

“Be careful,” Paul instructs.

Louis laughs. “Somehow I think I’ve heard that before.”

“Will you actually listen this time?”

“Maybe.” Louis scrunches up his face. “Can I go in the hotel to deliver this?”

Paul’s eyes go wide as he stares in shock. “Are you actually asking permission to do something?” The corner of Louis’ mouth perks up in a smile, but he isn’t going to give the satisfaction of saying yes. The fact that he asked is enough. Paul seems to agree. “It’s the ninth floor,” he says, giving Louis a little push toward the hotel doors.

As luck would have it, Louis runs into Niall exiting someone’s hotel room just as he’s stepping off the lift on the ninth floor. Niall is pulling his t-shirt down over his torso, like he’s just getting dressed for the first time that day.

“I’ve just been from recording,” Niall explains.

“Shirtless, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Niall grins. “What are you up to? Are you allowed to be here?”

“As a matter of fact, I am allowed,” Louis brags. “I have Paul’s special permission.”

“Look at you, permission and everything. How fancy.”

“Yes, and I’m here to see you.”

Niall’s eyes go wide. “That could be ominous.”

Louis feels his whole body seize up at Niall’s trepidation. “I hope not,” he says in a small voice.

Niall looks Louis up and down, and comes to a decision. “Come on,” he says, inclining his head down the corridor, and leads Louis to his room.

It’s been awhile since Louis has been in a hotel room with another person, since Eleanor, actually. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the room among Niall’s things: clothes spilling out of his suitcase, strewn all over the floor, his guitar laying out on top of his bed. Louis wonders fleetingly if Niall sleeps with the guitar. Niall seems to be looking around for a brush or a comb and finally gives up, settling for running his fingers through his hair.

“I see you come bearing gifts,” Niall says, finally turning around to face Louis. “At least that’s what it looks like.” He gestures to the silver package Louis is carrying.

“Yes, this is for you.” Louis hands it over.

But Niall looks suspicious. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just open it, you idiot.”

Niall tears into the paper, letting it fall to the floor in a silvery mess. He’s left with a medium-sized picture frame. However, there isn’t a photo inside the frame. Instead, it’s a small poster with every date of their current tour listed.

“What the…?” Niall stares, trying to figure the gift out. “It’s our tour.”

“Very observant.”

Niall narrows his eyes. “What’s this about?”

“It’s nothing bad!” Louis tries to assure. He’s done a shit job of explaining this so far. He’ll have to work harder, he’ll have to be honest. He takes a deep breath and steps closer to Niall. “It’s just that, there are five of us, right?”

“Last time I checked, yes.”

“That’s a good thing, you know? We each do different things for each other. I live with Zayn. I write with Liam. Harry and I are old friends. But I didn’t know what our thing was, Niall. I couldn’t figure it out.” Louis shakes his head at himself. “It was so fucking obvious.” 

Niall is staring at him like he’s really lost it this time, and maybe he’s right. Louis can feel his hands shaking, and the rest of his body, too. His blood is pumping through his veins with electricity, seemingly shocking him into life. This must be what it feels like to be alive, to share an important piece of yourself with another person.

Niall holds up the frame. “This?” He asks.

“Yes,” Louis nods. “Because touring is difficult for me, in ways that I can’t even articulate. But you got me through this one. I took you for granted, yelled at you, even. But you still supported me.”

Niall huffs out a small laugh, and waves his hand dismissively, but Niall will just have to deal with hearing all of this, because Louis isn’t anywhere near finished.

“And, as for performing onstage, I legitimately could not do it without you. We put that show together, you and me. And then we took it on the road. Now it’s almost over, but it will be time for a new one soon. We’re partners, Niall. Will you plan another show with me?”

Niall’s cheeks have turned a delicate shade of red. “You stupid fucking lunatic!” He bursts out, and tosses the frame onto the bed next to his guitar. Louis throws up his hands in surprise, but he isn’t upset. He likes it when Niall comes alive like this. “Why do you think I gave you my guitar pick?” Niall continues. “Because I knew, I’ve always known, that I couldn’t perform without you. Yes, we’re partners. And of fucking course it’s going to stay that way for the next tour.”

Louis’ face scrunches up in a smile, or possibly a trying-not-to-cry grimace. “I don’t play guitar. I can’t give you something like a pick in return.”

“You just gave me something,” Niall gestures to the frame on the bed.

“Yes, but there’s something else, too.”

Louis moves closer to Niall until they’re breathing the same air. He reaches his hand out to touch Niall’s shoulder, and slides it along to grip the back of his neck. It’s like when they’re onstage, except this time they’re alone in a quiet room and it’s strangely easier to feel vulnerable here in private.

Niall feels vulnerable, Louis can tell, because his eyes freeze up and steel barricades close Louis out. 

“You don’t have to be intimidated by her, Niall,” Louis says, not taking his hand away from Niall’s neck.

“She’s your girlfriend,” Niall bites back, not missing a beat. “How else am I supposed to feel about her?”

“Eleanor is smart, and she _knows_. And it’s okay.”

“Too smart for the likes of you.”

“I won’t argue with that.”

“You’re in love with her,” Niall says, his voice low with resignation. “You don’t even have to be near her, just thinking about her. I can tell. Don’t you see the difficult position that puts me in? Because the only person I feel that same way about is you, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t speak for a moment. He brings his other hand up to Niall’s waist, and Niall sways a little bit at the touch. It’s like they’re dancing together, and Louis lets it go on for a moment, lets their bodies speak to each other.

“Yes, I am in love with Eleanor,” he says, finally. “I’m rather hopeless that way. But this isn’t about her, it’s about you. And I think you’re a little afraid of that, too.” Louis notices Niall’s jaw flex like maybe he’s biting his tongue. “But you don’t need to be.”

Niall laughs, an empty, horrible laugh. “Yeah? You try it. You’re fucking terrifying, Louis.”

“You’re not afraid of me, not the way other people are.” Louis is not going to let Niall off the hook with this. “Besides,” He wraps his arm more tightly around Niall’s waist. “You’re scary yourself. You say things sometimes, and I have no idea what you mean. But I like it. I like not knowing. I like having to figure it out.” Niall raises a dubious eyebrow, so Louis continues. “You’re important to me, and not just within the context of the band. I care so much about all the ridiculous things you do in your downtime, too. If you want to sign up for some stupid golf tournament for charity or whatever, that will become the most important golf tournament to ever be played, in my opinion.”

Niall tilts his head, considering Louis’ words. Then he snakes an arm around Louis’ waist, drawing the two of them even closer together. A sly smile creeps across his face. “You’re so miserable about the fact that you’re rubbish at golf.”

“I’m sorry, I just honestly hate golf.”

“Because you’re rubbish at it,” Niall repeats, giving Louis’ hip a little pinch. “Give me a break, it’s the only sport I can play with my bad knees.”

Louis sways forward, closing his eyes and letting his forehead rest against Niall’s. “Your bad knees are very important to me,” he whispers.

“Is this how you talk to Eleanor?”

Niall is joking, Louis knows. But he pulls back to look Niall in the eye. “You’re two different people. I wouldn’t do the same things with you that I do with her, because you deserve something that’s all your own. And anyway, she mainly does the talking.” 

A seam opens in Niall’s gaze, like he could begin to understand Louis’ relationship with Eleanor. Someday soon Louis will tell him what he’s never been able to share with anyone else, he’ll explain that he needs to lose himself in Eleanor’s words, because it’s the only way he knows how to disappear and feel comfortable. And Niall will understand. 

But for now, it’s about Niall, and he seems to be opening up. Niall’s one arm is gripping more tightly around Louis’ waist, and he brings his other hand up to Louis’ chest. He traces along the tattoo that peeks out from the neckline of his t-shirt. Niall’s fingertips feel both warm and cool to Louis in equal measure. He loves that about Niall, the way he switches from hot to cold, his ability to embody so much life like that.

Niall switches his gaze to look Louis in the eye now. “I think you had something else to share with me?”

“Yes. That is, if you want. I thought we could try something.”

Louis smiles out of sheer nerves and because he likes Niall so much. To his delight, Niall reflects the smile back to him, his hand curling around Louis’ neck to bring him even closer.

“Just kiss me, you idiotic person,” Niall insists.

Louis is in the middle of a laugh when the kiss hits. The laugh is transformed somewhere along the way between the two of them, becoming a content, satisfied, and needy kind of moan all at once, as the two of them give and take, nipping and pressing and falling into each other.

Kissing Niall is different to kissing Eleanor. It’s not the sweet brown sugar mixed with the bitter taste of ink spilled across the page of a book that Louis is used to. It’s even different from kissing the other lads. It isn’t old and familiar like with Harry. It isn’t something grown-up to do together, a break from childish games, like with Liam. Nor is it a mode of conversation like with Zayn.

Kissing Niall is an entire category unto itself. The newness makes it scarier than ever, and Louis mainly feels like his stomach is trying to swoop out of his own body. Judging from the way Niall is clinging onto him for dear life, he feels the same. Louis knows it must be scary for Niall, because this is his way of sharing his secret world, sharing all those universes that Louis could never manage to see on his own. 

Louis holds Niall close with sure and steady hands, because this is one thing he can do for Niall: keep him grounded when he needs it. Niall must feel it, the rock-steadiness, because he kisses harder in response, and Louis gives it right back.

 

What, then, does it feel like to be alive? It’s like cool metal catching at the corner of Louis’ mouth, blurring the line between pain and exhilaration. It’s like a warm flame engulfing him in absolute comfort. It tastes like dry, crystal clear champagne, intoxicating, yet refreshing. It looks like bright colors streaming from Louis to Niall and back again. For that is what it looks like when the sun and a storm meet in the sky as equals. The result is always an incredible, arresting streak of bright colors stretching along the horizon.


End file.
